


Carbon Copy

by Rixitup



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Clones, Deceit Sanders - Freeform, Gen, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), Inspired by Sanders Sides, Logan Sanders - Freeform, M/M, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Multi, Other, Prince Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Thomas Sanders References, Virgil Sanders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixitup/pseuds/Rixitup
Summary: Is cloning inhumane? That seems to be the question for these five boys as they all coincidentally bump into one another, finding out that there are four other versions of themselves! In attempts to find out if they’re all quintuplets separated at birth, or if they’re truly copies of one another, they must put their heads together and remember their pasts. Though, as they figure out more and more, they realize there isn’t only five of them and that others may still be trapped where they were once imprisoned. Follow #01, #02, #03A, #05, and #06A as they attempt to put together the puzzle of their origins.





	1. Chapter 1

_The cold white tiled floor seemed to strike a freezing sense of displeasure to the bare feet of the young boy as he walked after the striding legs of the much taller adult in front of him; for every clunking step of the adults shoes the boy took four fast slapping foot steps, the souls of his feet tapping against the chilling tile beneath them. Bright lights in the ceiling only seemed to add to the artificial feel of the whole hall as they continued to walk, keeping the white walls and floor glaring at all passerby’s as the light reflected off of each space. If someone were to stay in the hallways for too long, their eyes would surely become quite sore._

_Trying to avoid any common eye soreness, the boy attempted to find something to hold his gaze which quickly fell to his forearm as his eyes traced over the black ink in his skin; he knew the numbers and letters, even though at one point he had been confused by them, unsure what they were or what they meant. Now, knowledgeable of such things, he continuously repeated the brand in his head as he tried to keep his wondering worried mind occupied, and his eyes focused; Number, zero, six, A.. Number, zero, six, A.._

_The tattoo had been there, for as long as the boy could remember with no recollection of receiving it; he figured it must’ve been put there when he was very young, too young to remember the pain. Though whilst thinking about it, his arm tingled and he shivered uncomfortably, deciding not to look at the mark very much longer. His eyes soon became downcast as he watched the lab coat flow out just in front of him. It was almost close enough for his fingers to brush against the edges if he reached out his small hand; tempted to do so, the boy lingered momentarily on his thoughts before thinking better of them. Though, distracted by the lab coat, he stumbled over his feet before catching himself just barely, scrambling to not fall behind._

_“Project #06A please keep up.” The voice chirped ahead of him and he flinched, his hands squeezing together as he fiddled with his fingers nervously; he didn’t dare reply and only nodded. There had been a time where he would’ve said something in return, but those days were gone and the boy had come to only know nervousness more than confidence._

_“I’m sure some time spent with your sibling will help you regain your skills… you weren’t ready- for the others and we know that now. Though your brother isn’t as impressive as you, maybe some quality time with your twin will help remind you of your capabilities?” The figure stopped up ahead and #06A turned his head to look up at their face as his eyes squinted and his brows furrowed; it was a young face, one of the adults he actually trusted. They crouched down in front of the boy so he may actually get to see their face instead of the glare of the bright lights in the ceiling_

_“You’ll be alright.” The person murmured as the child looked to them with wide eyes before he flicked them away to focus on the incoming facial hair on the lab-coated ally. The adult was younger than a lot of the other adults he saw regularly, and it made him feel more comfortable, almost as if the less aged face showed a sense of innocence and kindness. The large green eyes of the adult stared to him worriedly as the patient began to fiddle with the hospital styled smock he wore, his right toes itching at the plastic bracelet on his left ankle; the boy recognized a heavy sigh fall flat._

_“Come on, #06A… your brother will be glad to see you again.” The boy looked away worriedly. He hadn’t seen his brother in a long time._

_\- -  -_

The locker slammed shut as Virgil slung his bag over his shoulder and the hallway bolstered behind him; the crowd of students moving among each other and trying to travel in opposite directions all at once. Pressing play on his MP3 Player, he drowned out the noise of all the students and merged into the crowd himself, slipping past people and keeping his head down as he made his way through the school, dodging people uselessly standing with their friends in the middle of the hallway, a football being tossed about, backpacks being swung over shoulders, and.. other things being passed about. Virgil had only just started high school, entering as a freshmen, but as the first trimester passed, he found that it wasn’t as exciting as he would’ve hoped. Now that it was June though, he was looking forward to the last day of school which was coming at a snail's pace. Grimacing as a backpack roughly knocked into his shoulder, Virgil grunted and sped up, finally exiting through the front doors. He narrowed his eyes at the bright Carolina sun, a deep frown creasing into his face before he made to take a step forward; a pull on his backpack stopped him though and he lurched at the sudden halt with a yelp of surprise as he was pulled back forcefully then pushed. Virgil stumbled back roughly onto the ground as a group of laugher moved past him with a couple jeers thrown his way.

“Outta the way!” One of the perpetrators had scoffed as he was pushed back; a couple feet flew his way and Virgil tensed as he kept his gaze to the ground. He waited til they passed before he slowly stood up and dusted himself off.

“Assholes.” He muttered before walking off and away from the building, finding his feet to be leading him along his familiar route home as My Chemical Romance played through his headphones; he turned up the volume, attempting to get lost in the music.

His attempt wasn’t successful as a honking of a car horn caught his attention. Virgil pulled his headphones off and looked over, his heart sank and he moved to put his music back on. A rough beat up truck with rusted bumpers had slowed down to follow along with the teenager, its passenger side window rolled down so the driver could speak.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! You’re _not_ walking home.”

Virgil ignored them despite being told not too.

“Virgil! Dad’s going to kill _both_ of us if you don’t get your ass in this truck!”

“I don’t care, and he’s not _my_ dad, he’s _your_ dad. ” The student stopped walking and looked to his older brother, who glared back.

“Well I care, and he _is_ your dad whether you like it or not. Him and mom didn’t adopt you for nothing you ungrateful brat.”

“Bullshit.”

His sibling groaned and stopped the truck, opening the driver seats door and stepping onto the pavement.

“Virgil, get your ass in this truck right _now_.”

“Not while you’re high.”

“You think I’d be dumb enough to go home _high_ ? Like he’s dumb enough to come home _drunk_?”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree does it?”

Virgil hardly had the chance to move before his brother was on him, wrangling the struggling teen into his arms forcefully; Virgil pushed at his binding hold though it was no use.

“I’m driving you home you little prick.” His sibling grunted through their struggle as Virgil managed to break out of his grasp and stumble forward onto the pavement, his palms scratching against the rough surface.

“Like I said.. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Virgil spat and glared up at his brother before looking at his burning hands; they had begun to bleed.

“I’m nothing like him. Now get in the car.”

“Fine, but you’re wrong.” Virgil's head lurched forward as his brother whacked him in the back of the head.

“Shut up you annoying shit.”

Virgil didn’t reply and instead opened the passenger side door of the truck, throwing his backpack into the feet area and climbing in; he adjusted his headphones back onto his ears and looked at his hands which rested on his lap. The blood smeared across his palms with small bits of dirt, sand, and pebbles scattered about. He tried his best to wipe them clean but flinched when the scratches burned at the contact. Giving up, Virgil let his hands alone and tried to find something else to train his gaze on. He gave his sibling a side glance, who was still standing on the sidewalk with his back to the car; a puff of smoke traveled above his head and Virgil looked away, anxiety starting to make his stomach hurt.

_“The old man won’t be happy about that…”_

His brother, Kyle, wasn’t the smartest kid around and was already a year behind in high school due to his after school activities and low grades. If Kyle wasn’t as much as a junkie, Virgil actually thought they could’ve gotten along better, but it was practically too late to create any sort of bond with Kyle. His older brother was ignorant, rude, and stupid, Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up just like their dad; rotting away with a beer can in hand as he sat in the same recliner every second of every day. He averted his gaze, deciding not to stare and fuel the wave of anxiety encompassing him.

Out of impulse, Virgil drew back his sweatshirts sleeve and looked to his left forearm, gazing at the empty skin he saw; he rubbed a thumb over the area and slowly wiped away the color to reveal black ink.

_“Number, zero, six, A..”_

The first time he asked his parents about it was about a year or two after he had been adopted from foster care; Virgil remembered that his dad had just lost his job and had been heavily drinking that day.

Shuddering at the memory Virgil repeated the code again in his head.

_“Number, zero, six, A..”_

He had questioned it, a bit nervous to ask about it in the first place, but kids at school had pointed it out to him and he had been confused that no one else had one.

 _“You came like that,”_ His father had barked, a half full bottle of beer in his hand.

_“Said you’er part’o some… some program’r somethin I don’fuckn know!”_

His mother had comforted him after that, reassuring him that he had been part of some hospital program; he found it weird that he didn’t remember any of it.

_“Number, zero, six, A..”_

Why give a child a code? Virgil had compared it constantly to the historical concentration camps and how the Nazi’s had given each prisoner a code; was the hospital story a cover up..? Had he actually been through something much worse..?

_“Number, zero, six, A..”_

Why couldn’t he remember? And why did the internet bring up nothing but a serial code for a product of a company gone bankrupt?

_“Number, zero, six, A..”_

“Will you stop looking at it?! You cover it up for a reason! It’s weird!” Virgil jumped as his brother spoke, he hadn’t realized he had gotten into the drivers seat. He now looked over to him before he begrudgingly covered his arm with his sleeve, directing his gaze out the window.

“Whatever..” Virgil muttered before turning up his music as the truck lurched forward, pulling back onto the road and off in the direction of their house; Virgil's stomach churned at his growing worry. He didn’t like going home, much less being around his father if he could even call him that anymore. The first couple of years were the best, his older brother wasn’t such of an ass, his dad wasn’t drinking, and his mom wasn’t timid.. Virgil wished he could remember those years better than the ones he’d rather forget; he sighed to himself and let his music over take his mind. As the words of a Green Day song blasted, he reminded himself over and over again that he only had a few years left.

 _“Three more years.. Just survive another three years.. then you can move out, go to college; start a band.”_ Virgil smiled to himself before closing his eyes and bobbing his head along to the beat almost pushing his thoughts away; he had a plan, he’d just slip inside and go to his room like he normally did.

Virgil opened his eyes to look out the window, watching as his street slowly got closer until the truck was turning onto it. A few houses passed by and then they were pulling into the driveway where a house with brown chipped paint, an overgrown front yard, a broken screen door, and broken roof tiles, sat in front of them.

It made Virgil shudder.

“Are you gonna sit there all day or get out?”

“Screw off..” He muttered to his brother before pushing the truck door open and stepping out, pulling his bag along with his heavy amounts of anxiety. He hoped the old man would be asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with him.

Virgil glanced back while taking his headphones off, still hesitant on moving to enter the house.

“Aren’t you coming?” He asked and his brother rolled down the window, replying with an estranged look.

“Are you kidding me? Hell no. I’ll be back when that asshole is asleep.” Virgil thought this was a bit strange, his brother normally came home in the afternoons to say hi to mom before disappearing; he may have been a jerk but he still had a bit of a heart. It wasn’t like him not to go inside after school though, and Virgil thought back on last week; Kyle and Mom hadn’t been getting along recently, perhaps he was giving her the cold shoulder?

“Can’t you take me with you?” He asked hopefully.

“Only if you want to shoot lines.”

“Forget I asked..” Virgil turned away with slight disgust and walked across the front lawn towards his house, his gaze trained on the grass.

“Afternoon Virgil!” Virgil looked up as someone called his name and he stopped to see their older neighbor next door, sitting on his porch. Their neighbor was an older man around his 60’s with a perky wife who traveled down to the senior center to play bingo every Friday night. The two didn’t have any kids but instead two cats that could often be seen sitting in their front window. Virgil smiled to the older man and waved; there had been a time, long ago, when the two families had had cookouts with each other and even game nights, but that hadn’t happened in ages.

“Hello Mr.Richards.” He greeted in return before he finally made his way to the front door, opening the ripped screen door then the big front door; as soon as he stepped inside, the smell of alcohol was heavy on the air, and a gust of the broken air conditioner hit him square in the face leaving a dry feeling on Virgils skin.

“Kyle? That you?” Virgil glanced up at the greeting as his mom stepped around the corner, she was a shorter women, with a tired smile and a messy brown pixie cut a top her head.

“No, sorry to disappoint.” He replied but she smiled to him just as well.

“Oh Virgil, I’m glad you’re home. How was school?” Her voice was low and quiet, and Virgil figured it was because his dad was asleep. _“Thank God, maybe I won’t have to deal with him til dinner.”_ He thought before moving into the kitchen and dumping his bag next to the table. The floor was tiled white, but it was dirty from not being cleaned recently, and the counters were full of letters, and bills, their envelopes laying about almost everywhere.

“It was.. school.” Virgil shrugged to his mom as he went to the fridge, opening it to find something to eat; all the shelves were practically empty except for half a carton of milk, some decaying cheese, and a whole lot of condiments.

“I have to go shopping..” His mother sighed as she walked in after him.

“Why not tell Kyle to go?” Virgil asked though he knew the answer when his mom looked to him with a tired expression, her blue eyes dull.

“You know Kyle won’t go, even if I ask him.”

Virgil frowned but he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah.. I’d go, if I could.”

“Thanks honey,” His mom kissed his forehead lightly before walking over to the sink, turning the water on to wash the dishes. Virgil watched her from where he stood before looking off into the living room where the TV was on and playing some random soap opera as an unshaven man sat in a recliner with empty beer cans and bottles littered around his vicinity; his snoring was louder than the TV’s volume.

“Are you working the night shift again?” Virgil looked back to his mom who shook her head from over by the sink.

“No, they told me to take the next two days off since I’ve been working so much.”

Virgil wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not, if he were selfish he’d smile in relief, but he knew as much as anyone else his mom hated being around her husband; Virgil hated him almost as much as his mom did, if not, more, but it seemed she never had the heart to just pack up and leave him.

“Mmm..” He hummed in return as he glanced back to the living room. His mom didn’t take very many days off because of him, and was usually gone a lot to keep the bills paid, the house running, and food going to everyone's mouths, though Virgil also knew she was gone a lot for her own sanity; he understood completely, though sometimes grew angered she never took him with her.

“I’m going to my room.” He finally said before grabbing his bag and trudging past the living room and down the hallway which led off to all the bedrooms, including the bathroom. Along the walls the paint was a dark grey that chipped in certain places. Virgil passed a dent in the wood and glanced to it as he went by, feeling his shoulder tingle in how it had gotten there. He decided he didn’t want to think about it and moved on, turning to the bathroom. He dropped his bag onto the tile floor which was equally as dirty as the kitchen, and turned on the sink, grimacing as his scrapes hit the rushing water. After a few minutes of watching the dirt and red flow from his palms, he stopped the water and rummaged in the cabinet behind the mirror, finding a few band aids in the plethora of medical supplies. He bandaged his hands, sighing at the sudden realization that he wouldn’t be able to practice his guitar without reopening the wounds; Virgil hoped they’d heal soon. He picked up his bag again and shuffled back through the hallway before opening his door to enter his room.

Virgil's room was very different then the rest of the house, though it was messy as everywhere else, it was full of posters and personality. He had lined the walls with magazine clippings, posters, bands, and album covers, trying his best to make it seem appealing to himself. The floor was covered with clothes that had been casted away and the bed was unmade, as a crooked desk sat in the corner next to the only window which looked out at the house next to theirs. Their neighbors had once been great friends with his family, until of course the unconscious goblin in the living room had lost his job and started drinking; everything had gone downhill from there.

Virgil dumped his bag on the ground and collapsed on his bed, feeling the mattress seep into the floor from his weight; there was no frame, just a mattress on the ground, which, admittedly, Virgil liked. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in the comfortable smell of his room before he exhaled with a heavy sigh. Virgil layed there for a while, too lazy to get up and complete the homework that stayed hidden in his bag; he figured he’d just complete it during lunch, or at least try. He grimaced to himself when he thought about the vulnerability of the cafeteria, one of the places, aside from the hallways, bathroom, and the gym, that made him question his very existence.

Groaning to himself, Virgil plopped his head onto his pillow and huffed before turning over onto his back and staring at a couple posters he had thumb-tacked up; right now, Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day was looking down at him from a Rolling Stones poster. He sighed and pulled his headphones back on, closing his eyes and imagining the strings and finger placements for the notes of the lead guitar.

 

He must have fallen asleep with his music playing loudly in his ears because the next thing he knew he was being wrenched from his mattress and his headphones had slid off his ears so he could hear the angered yelling.

“Wake up ya brat!”

Virgil yelped in slight surprise as his father pulled him forcefully to his feet and he staggered in complete surprise.

“Think you can ignor me when I’s asks yous for a drink..?”

Virgil took a step back in fear, his father became violent and unpredictable when drunk and it was hard to reason with him in these situations.

“I’ll teach ya a lesson ya won’t forget..!” His body cringed at the anticipation and Virgil closed his eyes as he went reeling back, a burst of pain shooting through his jaw; he stumbled back as his damaged hands went to soothe the sore.

“Go get me a beer boy!” Virgil avoided his father’s gaze and slipped away quickly and out of his room, rushing to the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner, her gaze downcast with a few stray tears peeking from the corners of her eyes; they were far too used to this… Virgil pulled a beer out of the fridge as he heard his father grumbling down the hall and traveling to regain his spot in the recliner.

“Where's that brother of yours at..?” His father seemed to coherently ask but Virgil didn’t answer. He walked over with the can and handed it to his father who only grimaced and snatched it up, leaning forward.

“I askes you.. A question..” His breath stunk horribly and Virgil tried his best not to make a face.

“I don’t know,”  
“What was that?”  
“I don’t know,”

“You forgetting something,”  
Virgil met his gaze defiantly.

“Nope,” As soon as the word had popped from his mouth he felt a different kind of pop go _into_ his mouth almost forcing the words back down his throat; this time he fell back from the force and his father stood up over him.

“Let us try that again..” He growled. “Where’s your dumbass brother?”

“I don’t know.. Sir..” Virgil almost mumbled, looking down at the ground.

“Of course you do,” The boy tensed as his father took hold of his shirt collar and pulled him to his feet.

“Wheres is he?!” He slurred imperfectly. Virgil shook his head and closed his eyes, he truly didn’t know where Kyle was- but there was no way of convincing his father that.

“I don’t know-” He repeated and his father rattled him.

“You don’t want to talk huh?”

“I told y-”

Virgil tried to protest but the man had started to drag him off with a sudden yank, making him sputter.

“Why don’t you go and think about it then?! Maybe that’ll jar your memory?” Virgil didn’t dare pull away from his father’s hands as he was dragged off, he knew where he was going and if he resisted his sentence would only be worse. A squeaky door opened and Virgil felt himself get pushed onto the basement stairs almost enough that he would’ve fallen had he not caught himself roughly on the banister; the door slammed and locked from behind him, leaving him in complete darkness with his father stomping away across the floor boards as saw dust sprinkled into the air. Virgil took a shaky breath in before sitting down on the first couple of steps, staring down the dark staircase. He didn’t feel like stumbling down the stairs to find the small string that turned on an old lightbulb, in fact he didn’t feel like doing anything; his music could faintly be heard through his headphones which had fallen to rest on his shoulders, his MP3 player hidden in his pocket. Virgil stared ahead and listened to his father argue with his mother whose voice never achieved a yell. He wiped at a few stray tears from his face as he sat, continuing to stare forward without much emotion; he felt numb, and gone, too used to being locked in the darkness to truly feel his heart dent. Though as he stayed motionless, Virgil began to feel an incredible wave of heat rise from his chest and up his throat and he shook his head, suppressing his anger. It would do him no good to get angry now, it would only make him more upset.

Finally, in a swift movement, he mounted his headphones back on his head and got lost in the music blasting into his ears, bobbing his head along to the beat as his teeth clenched and his eyebrows furrowed; he figured, if he couldn’t hear himself sob, it wouldn’t be real. If he couldn’t hear the helpless noise admit from his mouth, he wouldn’t have lost to it all. If he couldn’t hear his own suffering it all wouldn’t be the reality he so hated.

Tears quickly fell and Virgil let constricted lament fall from his throat, popping from his tight chest and falling out in the darkness in a disorganized mess of tears. His left thumb continuously rubbed against the bottom pads of his right hand meticulously, running along his palm almost in attempts to calm himself as his left knee bounced rapidly. In his earlier years he would’ve screamed and kicked the door until his fists and feet were sore, until his cheeks were numb from a constant stream of tears. Although he now had the possible ability to kick down the door, Virgil had no desire to bring more hurt onto himself and instead favored wallowing in his own self pity. Like usual, he blocked out any other sound and replaced it all with the music in his ears, focusing on the words and the beats only, even going so far as to pick out the different instruments he could hear that were electronically modified or not. The methodical beat of a drum laying the base for the music to follow, the controlled tune of the guitar, and the synthesizers laying the foundation for the extra additional edits, he recognized all of it one by one forcing his mind analyze the song as to distract himself from becoming more upset than he already was. Virgil’s hands stopped shaking, his chest stopped heaving, his cheeks dried up, feeling stiff, and he sat quietly now letting his atmosphere disappear. He no longer was sitting on a rough wooden stair in a pitch black staircase but instead in his own mind. Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to imagine his own safe place, somewhere he knew he felt safe. After a few minutes his mind seemed to give him a room that was bright white, almost to the point that it hurt to look at the walls. He forced himself to try harder, to create anything else other than a blank white space but nothing seemed to be created and after trying time and time again to find somewhere to go, Virgil realized he had never known anywhere safe.

His heart started to beat faster in anxiety.

He had never been somewhere peaceful, he had always known chaotic spaces where there was at least one risky component that he had to be wary of.

School was nowhere near a place he wanted to imagine himself in right now, and his house wasn’t the best place to help him feel peace either.

Virgil wiped away a new stray tear at the sudden realization that he had never known a safe atmosphere. He resorted back to his music and sniveled to himself as he sat on the stairs, letting his sadness turn into layers and layers of suppressed anger. Virgil grimaced to himself, trying to get himself to stop, but it seemed his tears were returning and soon enough his cheeks were streaked once more and his nose was stuffy. He sniffed, suddenly understanding, with a small hint of resentment, why his older brother resulted to drugs to fix his problems and why his father resulted to alcohol. Though upon this realization Virgil made a decision.

_“I’ll never become like them, ever.’_

And he meant it.

\------------------------------------

Virgil perked up with sudden shock as yelling could be heard over his music. His eyes opened to the darkness of the staircase where he had continued to reside. His MP3 players analog clock had slowly ticked away and Virgil watched as the time passed from 5 to 7:48. He cautiously took his headphones off to listen to his fathers and Kyles? Voices.

Virgil's eyebrows furrowed as he listened, he didn’t know Kyle had come home, but what it sounded like was he hadn’t been home for long.

“You’re high!”

“Yeah? You’re drunk..!”

Virgil frowned, it seemed Kyle hadn’t waited to get the drugs out of his system before coming home, a mistake he didn’t make too often due to their father's outrageous hypocrisy; he hated it when Kyle came home high, despite he himself being drunk all the time.

He flinched as fighting broke out with his mom crying out in slight protest and plea.

 _“Can’t wait for the day Kyle beats his drunk a-”_ Virgil’s thoughts were cut off as a loud shot rang out; it seemed as if he was a prophet.

Virgil was frozen, with legs rigid and eyes wide as his body grew still in shock. His ears rung for a few seconds before his mind grew silent as the air suddenly became thick; why couldn’t he breathe all of a sudden? Virgil tried to take steady deep breaths but the panic inside of him was growing.

A blood curdling scream ripped out into the air before it was also cut short with another shot.

Virgil began to tremble and he very carefully, and quietly, moved down the stairs to the basement, taking one silent step after another until his feet hit the bottom concrete; he stumbled around in the dark until he rounded the corner where a small window was positioned higher up on the wall, looking out onto the front yard. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and he could feel the silent tears falling from his eyes as he moved towards the window almost as if some force was making him move. Inside, Virgil was gone, paused, and too scared to think straight, but his body had a different plan than staying a sitting duck. He felt himself push a sturdy box under the window and then he felt his arms lift himself up onto it as the floorboards above him creaked. In almost a mechanical movement, he pushed against the basement window until it pushed open. He crawled out into the humid night air and scrambled to his feet, streaking across the lawn and over to Mr.Richards house, but as he approached the porch a third gunshot rang into the air.

Virgil stopped to look back at the house, his eyes finally becoming blurry with the mass of tears pouring down his cheeks. His voice came out in a struggling sob and he felt his knees hit the grass beneath him as  his bandaged hands covered his eyes. Police sirens filled the distance as the world around him became numb and nonexistent, Virgil almost didn’t realize the soft hands pulling him into a hug; he turned to the body of neighbor and clung, sobbing continuously. Despite his shock, his sadness, and his numbing mind, Virgil could only think of one thing: white walls, and a flowing lab coat.

 _“Number zero six A,”_ He thought.

_“Number zero six A.”_

_\-------------------------------------------_

_The cold floor struck through the child's bare calves as he sat, rattling around a stuffed animal as adults talked above him. He had sat down knowing how cold the floor was by the numbness of his feet, but it didn’t matter much to him, he had his lion and he was happy._

_“Roarrr,” The boy said to himself giggling as he narrowed his eyes to see the stuffy. It was a bit blurry per usual so he had to concentrate really hard to truly see it, but as soon as it was a couple inches away from his face it became clearer._

_“Yes, but #01 didn’t develop any Myopia, so wouldn’t that make #05’s genes mutated?”_

_“Myopia isn’t just a mutation though, it can be caused by environmental attributes as well.”_

_“Yes, but #05 has been exposed to the same environment as #01, there would be no chance for him to develop nearsightedness unless-”_

_“It was a mutation… Perhaps it’s the same case with #02 though? He developed Hyperopia remember and #04X had mutated genes that caused him to have complete blindness.”_

_“Our calculations must be off, we must fix them before we start the next few tests.”_

_“I’ll let the labs know, run some more eye tests on #05 we have to know if we’ve overshot the development.”_

_The boy looked up at the sound of his number, before going back to playing with his lion; he wasn’t interested in what the adults had to say and was far too entertained by the animal to listen._

_“#05, come with me,” The boy stopped playing for the second time and huffed in slight annoyance, but he got up and squinted up at the blurryface._

_“How many fingers am I holding up?” The adults hand moved and the boy looked to it whilst hugging his lion stuffy; this seemed very important and the boy didn’t want to mess up. He squinted harder, trying to make out the different fingers that were floating above him._

_The boy frowned._

_“Two…” He cautiously said after a few moments._

_“Why did you hesitate?”_

_He shrugged nervously in response._

_“Follow me.”_

_\-----------------------------------_

“Bye Patton! See you tomorrow afternoon!”  
Patton waved goodbye to his tutor as he left the school building, stepping out into the Mississippi humidity that coated the air. It was June, and the temperature was truly meeting its spring goals as it continuously sent days of humidity and rain for about 75% of the week. Patton didn’t mind the weather and had gotten used to it, but he still looked around disdainfully before walking across the parking lot to his car; he had just gotten his licenses recently and was proud to be independent. For his birthday present this year, his mom had bought him a car of his own, which had made him very grateful. Once school was out in the next week he could drive almost anywhere he wanted with absolutely no responsibilities for two months. Well, he’d still have- some responsibilities.. Home wasn’t the best place to him, that is- not any more… Just over three years ago he had been living happily with his adoptive parents and his little sister who mostly stayed home due to her health conditions. He loved reading books to her, drawing in his free time with her, and overall spending time with her, but one fateful afternoon she had had trouble breathing and the family had sped off to the hospital. Patton would’ve done so much more had he known he’d only see her for another week. Cast in a distraught spell, their family organized a funeral soon later and they all shared the same feeling of loss as the house felt more empty. His mom went back to work after that, and in a year, his parents had filed divorce papers. Patton was given a choice then, to live with his dad, or his mom; he didn’t like choosing but eventually stuck with his mom. His dad moved out and flew to Florida, out where he had family. Ever since then, everything had been.. not so good. He had to carry out of lot of the grocery shopping, and was doing a little bit more than he would’ve liked to be doing at this time in his life.

Patton grimaced at his recollection of the past and shook his head, trying to push his thoughts away. He unlocked his light grey Honda Accord and opened the drivers door before clambering inside to stick the key in the ignition. The car was heavy with humidity and heat so he left the door open for a few seconds as he waited for the air conditioning to kick in. Sweat dripped down from his forehead and he wiped it away with a sigh. Finally, when the air turned into a crisp cool breeze, he closed his door and dragged the stick into drive, checking his mirrors before lightly pushing against the gas pedal. As Patton pulled out of the parking lot though, his flip phone rung causing him to pull it out of his pocket; the screen read, “Mom,” so he answered.

“Honey! Patton!”

“Hey Mom,”

“Do you think you could stop at the grocery store for me..? We umm need some milk.”

“Mom, we- we have milk.” Patton said into the receiver, he knew what his mom was doing, she did it way too much so he knew her tricks.

“Oh! Well we need cereal too?”  
“We have cereal as well- Mom- just- just tell me not to come over.. I’d rather be told you and Dave are hanging out then be lied to.”

“Right- sorry honey.”

“It’s- it’s alright. Let me know when I can come home.”

“Love you bunches,”

“..Love you too Mom.” Patton closed his phone and tossed it into the passenger's seat with a sigh as he pulled onto the main road. He’d had this conversation with his mom too many times to count and it was starting to get on his nerves; he loved her so much, but sometimes he felt like he was more of the adult than she was. He knew she was doing this out of worry- but couldn’t she just…! Just stop seeing him?! Doesn’t she care about having a safe environment for her son other than booz and sex?!

Patton tried to regulate his fast paced breathing, forcing himself to calm down and ignore the tightness in his chest.

Ever since dad had left, Patton noticed how his mom had quickly put her faith in others, to replace the missing link of a caretaker. At most times, Patton filled that void and took charge of most of the chores and grocery shopping. Which had inevitably affected his grades and caused him to get a tutor. Though at other times, when his mom was infatuated with another man, Patton was told to give the house privacy sometimes for his own safety and other times for his mothers… benefit.

“I’ll just… go to the park- or something,” Patton decided finally, mumbling to himself optimistically. He had tried to redirect his thoughts from everything, but obviously it wasn’t working so instead he let his mind wander in hopes of figuring his feelings out.

As soon as they really seemed to have gotten over the death of his sister, his mother went around, trying to replace the hole in her heart with men upon men. Every month it seemed like she was seeing someone new; tall, short, bearded, or older- variety after variety Patton saw, but none of them came close to his father. He wondered if his mom had made the right decision, if his dad had made the right choice to fill out the divorce papers and move away. His mother sure didn’t seem happy, only when it was him and her at home did she look remotely at peace.

Patton stopped at a red light and waited as traffic went by, a family with a young girl walked past him along the crosswalk. He smiled sadly as he watched them before averting his gaze; a pang went through his heart as he thought about what his family could’ve been like.

The change of the red light to green soon pulled him from his daydreaming and he pressed on the gas, making his way to the park. This was a common outlet for Patton when his mother told him to stay out of the house. He’d go to the park, or the library and spend his time reading, or watching nature. His homework was always finished during his tutoring sessions so his afternoons were usually open and free, unless of course he was home babysitting his mother.

Patton pulled into the parking lot and stopped his car, turning the key and shutting off his engine. He looked out over what he could see, finding that it was a bit empty with no people occupying it.

He opened the driver’s door and stepped out with a heavy sigh.

_“Now what?”_

Patton stood, a bit hopeless as to what he should do. He had walked every path the park had to offer, and practically climbed every climbable tree in all his hours of visiting, what was he to do now..? Patton hummed to himself before moving to the passenger portion of his car, he opened the door and reached in to grab a small black case and a book of sheet music.

“Might as well practice for band,” He said to himself before slamming the car door shut and walking off with the long case in hand and the booklet beneath his arm. On days where he wasn’t inspired to do much with what the park had to offer, he spent his hours practicing his music. It distracted him from the feeling of wanting to go home and made him prepared for the next day in class. He always had a head start on the next piece they were practicing which landed him in first chair the middle of freshman year; he was a bit proud of that. Some times, when the park had some residents walking around, he’d gather a small crowd who would occasionally throw a few coins or place a few dollars on the ground; Patton was always uneasy when this happened since he was only playing for practice, not money. But he didn’t reject the extra change and always made sure to do something good with it, like donate it to a tip bucket, or gift it upon an actual musician playing for money.

Patton walked a bit into the park, admiring the lush grass and the pond off to his right as he walked along a cement sidewalk. A few ducks occupied the rippling water and Patton stopped for a second to look out at them from where he stood. The park was always active with one animal or another, making the empty nature seem much more full than he originally thought upon noticing no other people were around.

Patton wiped at his sweating forehead, catching glimpse of his forearm. He paused in his strides to take a look at his arm. He had stared at it so much over the years, and many had asked about it, even he had asked about it once or twice as a kid. But it was always the same answer: no one knew.

 _“Number, zero, five..”_ Patton thought to himself with a frown. He found it strange how he couldn’t remember ever getting the tattoo and often wondered what kind of family he had had before foster care that they’d give a kid a tattoo like this.

He proceeded to stare at his arm some more, recognizing that he was in a very nostalgic mood today, which was a bit odd. He didn’t normally look back on the past a lot in fear of drowning in the ocean of memories.

_#05_

What could it mean..?

Patton shook his head, trying not to think about it. He continued on his walk, looking around for a place with shade. There was a small gazebo up ahead at the end of a bridge that lead to a small island in the middle of the pond; he often avoided this place due to the frequent visits of teenage couples, and other reasons he didn’t like to admit. Patton argued with himself, trying to decide if he should head over or not, and eventually his reasoning won over his heart. It’d be a perfect shady place for his afternoon practice so he took the risk and turned in its direction.

Patton made his way across the bridge, calmly and peacefully appreciating everything around him to distract him from the wave of nostalgia trying to pry at his heart. The sheer beauty of the sun making the lake water shimmer, and the sound of dragonflies and cicadas buzzing noises filling the air made him smile. Nature seemed to be a symphony of music to him, and he loved every little instrumental sound each component had to offer.

Patton walked off the bridge and quickly stepped onto the small island, his shoes sinking down into the wetter soil. He quickly made his way to the gazebo by taking a few steps and entering; luckily, it was empty.

He stepped inside and felt his heart sink at its familiar vibe. He had gone here so many times with- well, a lot with his sister and lot with someone else. Patton bit back the lump of sadness in his throat and sat on the bench that rounded the walls; he studied the ceiling and white painted wood. Names and years and symbols were carved into the structure, marking it with little bits and pieces of history from many people; it sent a chill down his spine. Off to his right, he noticed a small carving on the bench of his sisters name and felt a pulse go through him. He tried to avert his gaze but instead his eyes landed on a different carving of a heart with two letters inside: P + M.

Patton stood up with a sudden fierceness that came from the depths of his sorrow and he quickly turned away, exiting the gazebo and escaping along the bridge with a blurry and tearful gaze. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to the island- it held too many memories he didn’t want to revisit. Struggling to see where he was going, Patton finally stopped and tucked his sheet music and case under his right arm so he could reached up with his left hand to take off his glasses and wipe away the stray tears that clouded his gaze. He placed his glasses back onto his nose and took in a shallow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before reopening them to the painfully bright sun.

_“Maybe, I’ll find a different place to practice...”_

\- - -- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Once Patton had started to feel his stomach ache in waves of hunger pains, he decided it would be a good time to pack up his flute and head back to his car to go home. His phone hadn’t rung with his mom stating he could come back home yet but he thought he’d just assume it was alright to go home. If anything, he guessed his mom was probably heavily sleeping.

Pulling into the driveway now, Patton put his car into park and frowned at the grey Volkswagen Eos stationed next to his moms white Chevrolet Malibu. There was hardly any room to park his car in the short suburban driveway so he pulled back out and parked in front of the white painted house instead, hoping no one would drive into it. He turned off the engine and grabbed his phone before deciding to leave his other things in the car, unsure if he’d have to turn around and go right back.

Patton clambered out and closed the door as quietly as possible before making his away across the small front lawn and to the front door. He stepped onto the single stair and tried the nob, it wasn’t locked so he proceeded to turn it and open the door. Patton stepped inside the entrance way where the house opened up to a narrow staircase on the left going up, and a hallway on the right that opened up to a kitchen that then led around the corner to a living room and bathroom. The lights were on in the kitchen, with a couple of wine glasses positioned on the counter, empty but notably used.

“Mom?” Patton asked as he cautiously walked into the kitchen, around the corner he could hear the TV on the news channel which struck him odd. He rounded the corner to find the living room barren, with no one watching the small flat screen. Patton reached for the remote that had been abandoned on the couch, but upon reaching over, he paused, noticing a couple of clothing articles were littered about. He grimaced and turned off the television before dropping the remote back onto the cushions. A sudden thud upstairs though alerted Patton and he looked up in slight alarm as a few shouts emitted.

Panicked and a bit worried, Patton found himself frozen to the spot.

“Mom?” He asked a bit louder though his query didn’t seem to penetrate through the arguing.

_“You bitch!”_

Most of the words were muffled but the swearing could be heard.

_“Get out!”_

A few more cringful thuds followed until the footsteps could be heard hammering on the staircase. Patton went around the corner, finally getting his legs to work as Dave, a surly man who never seemed to be able to take no as an answer was in the entryway, throwing the door open.

“And don’t come back!” Patton heard his mom shout as she came down the stairs herself; the front door slammed shut, sending ripples throughout the house.

Patton was silent as he listened to his pounding heart beat.

“Mom..?” He choked out. The women slowly came around the corner and into the kitchen, standing a few feet away from her son.

Her shoulder length bleached hair was all messy, and her face that was usually dotted with freckles and a smile had mascara running down her cheeks with messy lip gloss smudged on her lips.

“Patton… I- I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Patton ignored his mom's apology and closed the gap between them, bringing her into a hug; it didn’t take long for sobs to follow. Patton kept holding his broken mom, letting her tears and mascara stain his shirt. He didn’t care, he knew his mom wasn’t perfect, and he knew she brought it on herself a lot, but at least- at least they had each other, right?

After a few moments of quiet crying from his mom, she pulled away and wiped her eyes, looking at Patton with a hard gaze; he knew this face, this was the face of a women with her mind made up. He looked on in slight worry, what gears were turning in her head..?  
“I think- I think it’s time you move in with your father.”

_\-------------------------------------------_

Patton felt his fist grasp the arm of his chair as the plane raddled around him. His legs grew tense as the big machine moved slowly forward, and its engines revved louder than anything he had ever heard before. Patton felt his back press into his seat as the plane picked up speed, and his fist tightened even more against the arm of his chair as they propelled across the runway. He started to regret ever getting convinced to step foot on a plane.

After his moms encounter with her most recent… lover- she’d come to the conclusion that her lifestyle wasn’t safe for Patton.

With only a week of school left to go, she figured he could miss the last five days, and well, she wasn’t really wrong.

With permission from the school, Patton packed his bags sadly, not wanting to leave. Though, it didn’t seem as if he had a choice. His mother's mind was made up, and if Patton was being completely honest, he didn’t mind. He hated having to come home to someone new every month, taking up his mother's attention. It was hard on him, his grades, and his own life. Plus, he hadn’t seen his dad in ages, maybe this was for the best? It wasn’t like he couldn’t visit her- right..?

Patton ignored the lump in his throat.

Was he being selfish in thinking all of that? What about his mom? How would she take care of herself without him..?

The plane jostled violently, causing Patton to be thrown from his thoughts. He glanced out the window to see drops of water racing across the glass of the window, showing the amount of wind and air pushing on the sides of the flying metal bird. His gaze returned to staring at the seat in front of him as the plane lifted; he bit back a yelp and averted his thoughts.

His mom had given him a big smile before he entered security, and she had told him to be good like he always was and to not worry about her. He wished he could believe her, but the fact that she was sending him away in the first place told him she wouldn’t be fine. If home wasn’t safe for him, how could it be safe for her..?

The air tightened around him and his ears felt as if miles and miles of pressure were coming down on them as the plan ascended, going higher and higher every second.

Patton squeezed his eyes shut and his teeth clenched together as he tried to imagine a better place than this stupid plane. He tried to imagine the park, and the gazebo, and his mom, everything he was leaving behind. Though his mind flipped and nothing seemed to come to the surface accept bright white walls and blurry faces.

 _“Number zero five.”_ He thought.

_“Number zero five,”_

_\-------------------------------------------_

_The boy sat patiently in a chair, his legs swinging as he waited for the adult to finish with their work. Around him the walls were painfully white, hurting his eyes a bit, but he had grown used to the walls after quite a while. In front of him was a white porcelain table that was just as reflective as the walls; a piece of paper was on it with a list of blurry letters. The boy had previously tried to read them, but had had trouble seeing them so up close._

_The boy glanced over as the adult in the room moved from behind him and to his side. Their appearance grew blurry as they came closer and the boy grimaced in annoyance as he tried to decipher their features; the adults hands moved close to his face, moving something towards his nose and eyes._ _  
_ _Were those glasses? The boy had a hard time telling._

_“Is that better #02?” The adult inquired after the weird object had been placed; the boy was right in his guess, they were glasses._

_He blinked rapidly after the blurry adult had placed the pair atop his nose. He looked around, narrowing his eyes at first to get used to the prescription. He looked at the adult standing beside his chair before moving his gaze to look down at his hands; for once they were not blurry and he could study them up close. Peering down at his fingers, his eyes traced along the swirls of of his finger prints and he smiled, intrigued by the intricacy of his body. Before now he hadn’t been able to really see things up close and it had bothered him when trying to complete tasks at optimal efficiency. If he couldn’t see, then how could others expect him to do things as perfectly as they expected him to? They surely knew he had the potential, just not the capability._

_The boy finally nodded, answering with a clear “yes,” before the adult walked to a white desk and chair. The boy turned his head to watch but decided to keep his gaze focused on the table in front of him where the list of letters were. His eyes widened in a bit of surprise as he realized they were no longer blurry._

_“Read those letters for me,” The adult instructed from where they sat._

_The boy happily obliged._

_“RBMHGikL.” He read and the adult nodded, typing something._

_“Perfect.” They replied and the boy smiled contently to himself._

_The room was quiet for a minute as the adult continued to seem busy with whatever they were doing. The boy soon got bored and found his gaze was wandering about after a bit. It soon moved to his forearm, scanning over the normally blurry line of black that now appeared to be numbers. The boy carefully moved his glasses from his nose and looked to his arm, finding that without the glasses he couldn’t see the tattoo; he put them back on so he could read what had been written. After careful inspection, the boy realized it was his number._

_“Number, zero, two.” He said and the adult looked over._

_“Yeah, that’s your name.”_

_The boy glanced to them before looking back to his arm, tracing the code with his finger._

_“#02.”_

_\-------------------------------------------_

_The boy sat patiently in a chair, his legs swinging as he waited for the adult to finish with their work. Around him the walls were painfully white, hurting his eyes a bit, but he had grown used to the walls after quite a while. In front of him was a white porcelain table that was just as reflective as the walls; a piece of paper was on it with a list of blurry letters. The boy had previously tried to read them, but had had trouble seeing them so up close._

_The boy glanced over as the adult in the room moved from behind him and to his side. Their appearance grew blurry as they came closer and the boy grimaced in annoyance as he tried to decipher their features; the adults hands moved close to his face, moving something towards his nose and eyes._  
_Were those glasses? The boy had a hard time telling._

_“Is that better #02?” The adult inquired after the weird object had been placed; the boy was right in his guess, they were glasses._

_He blinked rapidly after the blurry adult had placed the pair atop his nose. He looked around, narrowing his eyes at first to get used to the prescription. He looked at the adult standing beside his chair before moving his gaze to look down at his hands; for once they were not blurry and he could study them up close. Peering down at his fingers, his eyes traced along the swirls of of his finger prints and he smiled, intrigued by the intricacy of his body. Before now he hadn’t been able to really see things up close and it had bothered him when trying to complete tasks at optimal efficiency. If he couldn’t see, then how could others expect him to do things as perfectly as they expected him to? They surely knew he had the potential, just not the capability._

_The boy finally nodded, answering with a clear “yes,” before the adult walked to a white desk and chair. The boy turned his head to watch but decided to keep his gaze focused on the table in front of him where the list of letters were. His eyes widened in a bit of surprise as he realized they were no longer blurry._

_“Read those letters for me,” The adult instructed from where they sat._

_The boy happily obliged._

_“RBMHGikL.” He read and the adult nodded, typing something._

_“Perfect.” They replied and the boy smiled contently to himself._

_The room was quiet for a minute as the adult continued to seem busy with whatever they were doing. The boy soon got bored and found his gaze was wandering about after a bit. It soon moved to his forearm, scanning over the normally blurry line of black that now appeared to be numbers. The boy carefully moved his glasses from his nose and looked to his arm, finding that without the glasses he couldn’t see the tattoo; he put them back on so he could read what had been written. After careful inspection, the boy realized it was his number._

_“Number, zero, two.” He said and the adult looked over._

_“Yeah, that’s your name.”_

_The boy glanced to them before looking back to his arm, tracing the code with his finger._

_“#02.”_

_\-------------------------------------------_

“Wait- You skipped a grade?! Why am I just finding this out now??” Logan put a couple fingers to his left ear as if that would help lower the volume of his partners voice.

“Yes Jenna. I skipped a grade. Practically everybody knows this, now can you _please_ continue editing my paper?” He looked to the girl across from him, her dirty-blond hair was put up in a messy bun and her brown eyes were wide with surprise.

“I have known you since 7th grade- I thought you were just a new kid or something- and you waited _this_ long to tell me?? Junior year!”

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses bumping up from his fingers. Jenna was a smart student, and the two had gotten along ever since they had worked together on a Science Fair Project. She had turned to him with almost a daring glint in her gaze, asking if he wanted to be her partner. Originally, Logan had said no, but the girl had pestered him for the rest of class until he had given in; ever since then, the two had been friends in one way or another. They didn’t necessarily hangout at each others houses, but their interests wound up driving them to see each other almost everyday. Both were in honors classes, both were in the student council, and both were in the science and debate club; it was almost impossible for them _not_ to see each other. So, against Logans better judgement, the two had formed a bond and he couldn’t say he regretted it. Jenna had always been very energetic, and emotionally driven where Logan was stoic with a more analytical sorta drive, but she was a worthy source of opinions and good feedback. Somehow, the two got along, even if they were heavily debating a certain topic that would force the two to become indifferent of each other. Once, they had debated about a topic for so long neither would talk to the other unless they admitted the opposite argument was right. Looking back on it now, Logan realized how childish it had been of him to take part in such a silent treatment, but that was Jenna’s secret ability, pulling out the emotion and pettiness in Logan. The silence between the two had carried on for two days until finally, Jenna had swallowed her pride and apologized; Logan had done the same, admitting he had missed her company.

Logan liked to believe that it was the competition that drove the two’s relationship. Both were top of their class, and were always competing to see who would do better than the other, but sometimes they worked together to remain in the same stride as to not force one to be better than the other. Secretly though, Logan imagined he was number one and he was sure Jenna had the same thought process about herself.

“I didn’t _wait_ to tell you, I just figured you _knew.”_ He stated in reply.

“Well I didn’t! And that’s what you get for assuming!”

“Jenna- you wished me happy birthday this year, were you not informed on how old I was turning?”

“No! Wait- THAT’S RIGHT! Oh my gosh- you’re 16, right?? You’re so young! Awwww!” Jenna cooed and Logan groaned, rolling his eyes. She was making such a big deal and it was getting on his nerves.

“Jenna, peer edit my essay.”

“Oh! You know I don’t need to! You’re writing is always perfect.”

“Even so, please, edit it like you’re supposed to or I’ll find a different partner.”

“Okay okay! Fine, jeez. I’ll edit your stupid paper, but I won’t find any mistakes.”

“Mmhm.” Logan hummed in return, looking down at the essay Jenna had written as his eyebrow twitched in slight annoyance from being side tracked. He stole a glance at the teacher who sat at her desk, but she didn’t seem to truly care about the two making such a racket. It was the end of the year, and this was the last essay they’d have to write for AP Literature; Logan had to admit he was glad. The class had been a source of a bit of his stress, due to all the essays they had to write and all the books they had to analyze. He didn’t have a problem getting work done, and he easily got A’s on most of assignments, but he was human like everyone else and the workload had put a damper on the amount of free time he had to himself. Even if he seemed like a living robot some times, Logan had inconveniences as well; Jenna seemed unconvinced of this though.

His essay suddenly slapped down in front of him over Jenna’s essay which he had been reading.

“I told you! No mistakes!” She stated with a huff. “I don’t know how you do it. You can somehow turn a whole analyzation into 4 pages when it takes 10 pages for me to even get my point across!”  
That was one of the differences between the two competitors, Logan was very good at keeping things short and to the point, while Jenna often added in multiple details that helped her essay, but weren’t necessarily needed. Their writing styles were always so different, but for being so diverse, the two always seemed to arrive on top of their fellow classmates. At times, Logan felt as though others resented their close relationship, it probably made them feel inferior that the top two students were conversing with one another; though it wasn’t Logans problem to deal with. If others did not like his and Jenna’s comradery, then they were the ones that had to deal with it.

Logan slid Jenna’s essay out from under his own and handed it back to her.

“Same to you, though I circled some parts you really don’t need to include if you don’t want your essay to be over 8 pages.” For this last essay of the year, 8 pages had been the maximum and right now, Jenna was at 10. She had been struggling to keep her essay from going over and had formed a slight wall of annoyance towards their teacher who she believed had purposely given the class a low maximum so she wouldn’t have to grade and read Jenna’s 15 page report.

“You’re a lifesaver-” She sighed thankfully, ruffling through her pages to see what he had edited.

“I know.” He replied.

“Of course you do, you know _everything.”_

Logan chuckled at this and shook his head as he leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“A worm’s reproductive organ is called a slime tube,”

Logan looked to Jenna with an estranged expression when she said this, and she laughed in response.

“Sorry, I know it’s a weird fact,  but you didn’t know it, right?”

Logan sighed in defeat.

“You’re right, I didn’t, so thank you, for enlightening me about the name of a worm’s reproductive organ..”

“My pleasure, but I can’t take all the credit, Katie told me that one.”

“I see.” Logan was about to change the subject when the bell rang and he quickly got to his feet, grabbing his binder and putting his essay away neatly.

“See you tomorrow nerd,”

He looked up as Jenna played a pink baseball cap on her head and grabbed her sunglasses.

“You’re skipping debate as well?” Logan asked. He didn’t normally skip clubs, but an important package was arriving this afternoon, and Logan wanted to get to it as soon as he could.

“Yeah, I have to study for that Chemistry test.” She made a sad face to accentuate her melodramatic expression.

“Alright, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

Logan offered a small wave as Jenna walked out with the rest of the class, joining the hallway of bustling students all heading for the same staircase. Logan stayed behind a little, putting his binder and pencils back into his side bag at a purposeful snails pace; he wasn’t in a rush like the rest of the students. Despite his impatience to get home to his package, Logan hated navigating through the hallways when they were full of people, so he usually waited a minute or two after the bell had rung to finally exit himself.

“Thanks Mrs. Hess.” He said on his way out.

“See you tomorrow Logan.” She replied almost as if she were an NPC.

Logan turned out of the classroom and down the hall. It was less busy and packed, and only had a few students who straggled about, talking to friends or walking around. Logan avoided them and kept walking down the hallway of lockers, glancing around disinterested.

“Hey! Logan!” He stopped and turned his body at the call of his name to see a classmate of his coming his way.

“Reggy..” Logan greeted warily. Reggy was a burly teen who did too many clubs and sports for him to have any time for regular school work. Logan had learned early on that he passed his classes by reputation rather than grades. Though, despite Reggy’s predicament, he was much like Jenna and Logan and was too smart for his age, only, he never had time to do his homework. Logan looked down at the junior as he stopped beside him, a bit out of breath with his brown hair all messy.

“Where are you going? Debates that way.” He pointed with a charming smile and Logan had to look away; he cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I can’t make it today, I have- a package coming in.”

Reggy’s face seemed to light up at this, and his eyes widened.

“Oh! You mean that DNA thing??!” He asked. Logan could feel his face growing warmer.

“Er- Yes- The DNA thing-” Logan hadn’t told too many people about his family situation at home, because he thought it didn’t quite matter but Reggy was one of the few who knew he was adopted. It had happened in biology last semester, and the teacher had been going over Dominant and Recessive genes. He had said that having brown eyes was a dominant gene, while blue eyes were recessive. Logan had paused when this happened, and Reggy, who had been sitting beside him at the time had noticed his expression of pure terror.

_“Dude, you have blue eyes.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Do your parents have blue eyes?”_

_“No..”_

Inadvertently, the two finally came to the realization that Logan had a very high chance of being adopted.

_“That might explain your tattoo.”_

_“...No, my parents- they- they told me I was apart of a hospital program when I was little- They… they told me..”_

Logan could still remember how confused he had been in that moment. He still looked back on it with slight sadness, it was a piece of personal information he could never take back, never be told at the right time. He wondered how long his parents would’ve waited to tell him. Logan had went home that day and asked them both about it. He had noticed the look they gave each other before they told him everything. Well, everything being that he was adopted and they truly had no clue where the forearm tattoo had come from. From that point forward, Logan had taken it upon himself to figure out where he came from.

“I wish you luck man, let me know what you find out!” Reggy flashed a grin then turned away from Logan, heading back in the direction of the debate classroom. Logan watched him go before smoothing his shirt out and then walking back down the hall. He quickly found the main stairs and then eventually the front doors where the courtyard was flooded with students going in all sorts of directions. Their high school was positioned right next to the Hudson River in New York, so there was truly only one way to go (deeper into Queens), but it seemed as though students came and went from all kinds of directions. Whether it was from Battery Park, Chambers Street, West Street, or Warren Street, students came from every inch of space that lead to or from the school.

Logan turned onto the sidewalk and quickly made his way back home. He lived in an apartment building with his mom and dad, no siblings, and no four legged pets, though they did own one fish. At one point they had had a whole aquarium of fish and Logan had spent many minutes watching them as a kid, though as he grew older, the fish began to die off and now only one Carassius Auratus remained, swimming about all alone.

Walking along with the crowds, Logan appreciated every little bit of personal space he could gain before it was stripped away and he was pushed along in a sweep of new people.

Sighing to himself, Logan continued to walk, realizing this was one of the only things he hated about New York, everything was always so busy and flooded with tourists. A sudden body knocked into his shoulder and Logan stumbled off to the side, deciding he should wait for the crowd to pass before deciding to begin walking again; he suppressed a second sigh and looked down the sidewalk. Whilst searching for a break in the crowd, Logan noticed a trench coated stranger who wore a black hat, standing not to far away, stopped in the middle of the people moving around them. Logan narrowed his eyes, finding the person to be a bit strange, but this was New York, there were always strange people on the sidewalks. He stepped into an opening between the traveling people and continued forth, focusing on his route home. Upon walking though, Logan couldn’t help but see the same coated figure in his head, racking his mind second after second until eventually he turned his head over his shoulder. A pang of surprise pulsed through him as he realized the figure was walking, seemingly staring. Logan stopped, causing a stranger to curse at him as they quickly stepped out of his way; the coated figure stopped as well.

 _“I’m being followed..”_ Logan quickly deduced, though he seemed it was an irrational thing to think but he couldn’t be too careful.

_“I’ll just turn up here instead of going the main way, if they turn as well then it would be safe to say my thoughts are correct. Though, I go the same route every day after school, if they’re following me it’s likely they’ve been watching me for a while.. Perhaps changing it up will cause them to stop?”_

To be safe, Logan took his flip phone out of his pocket and proceeded down the sidewalk until he hit an alleyway that halved the distance he normally walked to his apartment. Any other day, Logan normally avoided this path, due to his tendency to stop at a cafe after school for a quick cup of Green Tea or Coffee, but since this alleyway wasn’t part of his usual everyday path, he figured this person would back off due to his path being unpredictable now.

Turning down it, Logan quickened his pace, hoping to get to the end before the stalker even hit the entrance.

_“Just keep walking, they must suspect something at this point, they can’t keep following like I know they’re not there.”_

Logan turned and felt his heart skip a beat when the stranger appeared at the opposite end, their facial features hidden by the collar of their trench coat and the angle of their hat. He swiftly turned around and continued to quicken his pace home.

 _“They’re following me.. Should I call the police..? Would they even be able to do anything? My apartment is only another few minutes away.. Should I go into a public building? That-”_ Upon his thoughts, Logan realized his phone was ringing in his hand and he quickly opened it, bringing it to his ear as he continued to walk, maneuvering through the new busy sidewalk; half of him wondered if he should just walk on the road to get home faster.

“Hello?” Logan greeted, glancing back over his shoulder to catch glimpse of the stalker again, they had started to catch up to him.

“Logan! Hey, you have a package..? It just got dropped off in front of our door.”

He stopped in his tracks and was quiet.

“Dad-” Logan said cautiously his mind suddenly connecting a few correlations. Logan wasn’t one to be superstitious but what were the chances that he was getting a package about his mysterious heritage and was getting followed by a mysterious stranger that same day?

“Don’t touch the box til I get home,” He stated firmly in reply.

“Is everything okay..? I’ll just bring it inside,” Rustling sounds came from the other end and Logan began to panic.

“No! Dad don’t to-” Something came from the other end and in split seconds a single tone came from the other end as his dad’s phone disconnected. Logan stopped in his tracks and stared forward, unable to process what had just happened. He removed his phone from his ear and tried calling his dad’s phone again but a robotic voice replied, claiming the phone number was out of service.

Logan felt his heart sink.

For once in his life, his mind went completely blank and he could feel nothing. The only thing that came to his brain were white glowing walls and blurry letters. He shook his head and cleared whatever it was that had claimed his brain before he broke into a run, closing the distance between his location and his apartment in seconds.

Logan skidded to a halt as he arrived, rounding the corner and gazing at the smoking building as he stood from across the street. Tears came to his eyes and his view became blurry as he looked on; sirens rung in the distance.

He stared, frozen on the spot as he gazed up at his home to see the bricks of his floor crumbling to the ground from a deep hole in the infrastructure. It was almost as if a meteorite had strucken the exact spot his father had been standing outside their apartment door, bending down to pick up the package, unknowing that the explosion had most likely been intended for Logan.

He jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder.

Logan didn’t dare turn around, afraid of what was there waiting for him. He became tense as his body turned numb. Logans eyes slowly slid to look up at the stranger’s face, but it was hidden in the shadow of their hat.

“Number zero two, ” The stranger said in a low whisper. “You knew too much.”

 _“Number zero two..”_ Logan thought.

_“Number zero two.”_

_\-------------------------------------------_

_The boy swung his legs impatiently as he sat at the white and cold table, his legs hardly able to reach the ground as he sat in a chair. His right hand colored frantically on the coloring page in front of him, lazily scribbling in the blank drawing of a knight in shining armor. A few large crayons laid off to the side in all different sizes according to how much they had been used. The purple was almost gone because it was the color of royalty, the red was currently being used to roughly color in the knights helmet feather, the yellow was only chipped on the top, and the blue had unfortunately snapped in half due to how roughly the boy had used it earlier that day to color in the armor of the knight._

_As the boy colored, he listened to the adults talk, wondering why they were talking about the others and not his wonderful coloring skills; he planned to show the page to them when he was done._

_“His physical attributes match #01 perfectly, unlike #02 who we know developed Hyperopia. Perhaps he is just being distracted by the arts? He spends most of his time drawing or playing pretend or reading, and we know he thinks more emotionally than analytically.”_

_“Maybe, but if he matches #01 so perfectly, shouldn’t his mind be just as intelligent?”_

_“That’s the question though, can intelligence be inherited? Or does nature or nurture affect how a child thinks?”_

_“We’ll keep studying #03A’s characteristics but I think we should enforce more strict teachings, no more fantasy books or Television, we need to see just what is so different between his predecessors; my bets are on the influences he has experienced.”_

_“Right.”_

_An adult walked to stand aside the boy and he looked up to them with a smile, pointing to his masterpiece._

_The adult only seemed to frown and the boy became confused. Was his art not good?_

_“Come on #03A, it’s time we evaluate your ability to think more logically.”_

_The boy hopped off the chair and moved to grab his crayons and drawing but the second adult swiped them up before he could touch them; the single red crayon remained in his hand as he watched the lab coat sweep away. He watched them disappear confused as to where they were going with his stuff. The boy moved to follow but the first adult stopped him._

_“This way #03A.”_

_“My- My drawing.” He protested, pointing._

_“_ **_This_ ** _way #03A.”_

\----------------------------------

Huffing out of tire, Roman crashed into the body in front of him with his hands coming into contact with the others shoulders as both battled on the defense line. Their helmet guards clashed together and he stared ahead into the equally exhausted face in front of him, the male’s face sweaty and breath heavy from the Florida humidity. They were in the fourth quarter and down by four points but with possession over the ball, with whatever time they had left, they needed to score a touchdown to win. Roman finally caught sight of the ball and pushed his foe aside, running off a bit wider as his vision opened up to see the play of the field. The football had zipped over their heads to a receiver on the opposite end of the field who had caught it and was making his way up to the 30 meter mark where he was then tackled by the opposing team. Roman swore, his left fist clenching as the referees blew their whistles. He turned and jogged off into a huddle as his coach called for a timeout. His legs were pumped with adrenaline as he made his way over, his heart pounding fast as he his breath finally caught up with the pace of his heart beat.

Roman came to a stop next to a couple of his team mates and he exchanged a few compliments and head nods before listening in to what the couch had to say. Although, Roman had to admit, it was really hard to listen when all he could focus on was the immense heat. Florida sports never got any easier, and Roman understood it would always be hot in the beginning of the season when fall was just settling in, but he still hated it.

“Sanchez, how’s the hand?” Roman was a bit surprised when the coach addressed him and he forced himself out of his thoughts. His gaze flitted to his left hand and forearm, a pulse going through him as he remembered he had decided to cover- _it,_ with a brace today, instead of an ace bandage or arm sleeve. Roman disliked looking at it, and knew better than to show it to others in fear they’d look on in disgust. After years of having it in primary school he had convinced himself that others thought it was weird and it wasn’t natural, which- it wasn’t. How many kids had a tattoo on their forearm? Literally none. Roman always tried to cover it up, too ashamed to show it off and always trying to come up with an excuse.

 _“I hurt my hand in a game once, hasn’t gotten better since.”_ Was an often lie he told others when they asked about the brace he sometimes wore. A few times there had been people who remembered seeing it when he was a kid, and had interrogated him about it, but Roman quickly cleared up any misconceptions by explaining he had an obsession with tattoos as a little kid. He had told anyone who remembered that he used to draw the same tattoo on his arm everyday cause he thought it was cool. As cheesy as the story sounded, everyone believed it, because it sounded like something a little kid would do. Other times, when he didn’t feel like dealing with a bulky and itchy sleeve, he’d cover it up with make-up or sometimes with his varsity jacket.

Roman hated covering up a part of him, but he didn’t like the fact that he had the strange… brand- on his arm when no one else did. He had asked his mother, maybe once about it, but she had given no guidance as to what it was, saying she and his father had adopted him with it.

“Sanchez?”

“It’s fine sir.” He finally replied and the coach gave a hefty nod before talking about the game play and what their next move was, though Roman wasn’t listening. Looking over his shoulder as his team mates huddled around him, he scanned the crowd and audience, searching for a familiar face.

 _“Come on.. She has to be here..”_ He thought as he looked to the bleachers of family members.

“Alright, lets go boys.”

Roman forced himself to look away and get back into the game.

“Sully you get wide and make your way down the right. Roman get wide on the other side, you’re plan B if Sully is covered.”

“Got it.”

“Game on.”

The team dispersed quickly as the ref’s blew their whistles, though a quick hand on Romans shoulder made him hang back. Looking to his left he noticed his coach had stopped at his side, the age lines in his face and his grey hair accentuated with the lack of distance between the two.

“Audience has some recruiters today, stay sharp. If you make this run you’re sure to impress some important people.” He uttered, his gaze hard.

Roman nodded in understanding.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You always do your best, now get out there.”

Roman smiled a little bit before running after his team mates, determined to score the next touchdown.

\----------------------------------

“Great game Sanchez!” Roman stumbled as a teammate hit him on the shoulder playfully, whooping and celebrating their last minute win. “You carried us through!”  
Roman straightened and grinned, participating in the after game antics of tackling other team members and congratulating each other on their hard work.

“Nice way to bring this season to a close boys.” Their coach grinned, joining in on the jeers; the team followed up his comment with more shouts. Roman smiled but kept quiet as he looked to the dispersing audience as it started to exit the stadium from the opposite side of the field. He tried looking for a face he desperately wanted to see but knew it was of no use.

 _“She’s probably too busy working.”_ He thought to himself, frowning before moving to the bench to take off his helmet. His hair flopped on his head, practically soaked in sweat. Roman moved a hand through it to push his bangs away, grimacing slightly; he’d have to take a lengthy shower when he got home.

“Hey Ro, you coming to Maria’s to celebrate with us?” Sully had waltzed over, his short black hair making Roman slightly jealous as he thought about the mop on his head. Sully was the other wide receiver and both worked together to help get the ball farther up the field; most of time, they worked together but during practices they always had a slight rivalry going to see who was faster, stronger, more agile, etc. Sully already beat Roman in the height and age department, standing 6 and a half feet, and being a junior, while Roman was only 5 feet and 8 inches and a sophomore; so of course he had to find some way to beat his counter receiver.

“No, sorry Sul, I need to get home, take a shower, and rest my hand especially.” He referred to his “injured” left hand, using it as an excuse to get home and get to bed earlier. He loved celebrating wins with his team, but he was tired and didn’t feel like staying up any later than it was.

“Party pooper.” Sully scowled playfully but smiled.

“Alright, need a ride?”

“No no, not any more but thanks.” Roman replied with a small chuckle. Before he had gotten his driver's license, he had had a hard time getting home after games or practices. With his mom working all the time, Roman had been stranded and forced to walk home after games, but after seeing Roman walk a few times, Sully had made it his personal duty to drive him home each night. Roman respected that about his team mate, even if they did have a small competition going, Sully always looked out for his teammates.

“Aww, look at you, all grown up. You don’t need me anymore huh?”

“I never needed you, I could’ve walked all those miles!”

“Uh huh. How’d you get your mom to agree to you driving? Wasn’t she always saying she didn’t want you in driving school?” Sully asked and Roman felt a pang of surprise jolt through him. Sully was right about his mom being overbearing about him being behind the wheel, but he had absolutely no clue why she was like that. A few years after Roman had been adopted, his dad had gotten into a car crash and died upon impact; ever since then his mom had been very wary of him driving and it had taken a lot of convincing to allow Roman to even step foot in drivers ed.

“Er- Just kept pestering her.” He replied trying to push away his thoughts.

“Well good for you Sanchez.” Sully shook his head with a smile and laugh. “Good game Roman, you pulled us through with that last touchdown, nice work.”

“Thanks man.” The two high fived before Sully walked off to join the slowly leaving team. Roman watched him go, before picking up his helmet and walking a bit behind the rest of them.

“Number 13!”

Roman felt a pulse run through him as someone shouted his number, he became still and tensed up uncomfortably, not knowing why sudden panic had just ran through him. His mind seemed to go blank and all he could see were shining bright walls. Roman forced himself to calm from his sudden fear and turned to see a man in a suit walk up to him.

“13! Hi, sorry to catch you so off guard I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Roman offered a tired smile, realizing this man was probably one of the recruiters his coach had spoken about. These people normally looked at high school players during games and approached them about school offers or possible college scholarships when they saw the amount of skill the athlete had.

“No no, you didn’t scare me sir.” He extended his hand and the stranger shook it.

“Oh good. Anyway, my names Rick Griffing, I’m here on behalf of the Buchholz High School and the University of Florida, do you have a minute?”

\----------------------------------

“Mom! Mom! You won’t believe this!” Roman burst through the front door shouting as he rushed inside the suburban household a sports bag in his right hand and a small business card and printed scholarship proposal in his left. “We won the game and this guy- Rick Griffing his name was- he…” Roman trailed away when he realized the house was empty.

He closed the door and sighed to himself.

“Of course.. Night shift..” He mumbled before moving into the kitchen where he turned on a light and dumped his bag on the floor. A note was left on the counter, telling Roman she’d be back early in the morning and that there were some leftovers in the fridge. He picked the piece of paper up before crumbling it and tossing it into the trash can.

“She’s always working..” He said to himself, rolling his eyes. Roman loved his mom, he really did, but she was never around and he felt as though he was living alone half the time, dejected. A lot of the time he wondered if his mom even cared about him.

He placed the business card and proposal on the counter before sighing tiredly. Roman picked up his bag and traveled upstairs to his room where he threw his uniform into a bin of dirty laundry and put away his shoulder pads and gear. He set his helmet on his dresser and continued to the bathroom where he prepared to take a shower, thinking about how the game went and what Rick had offered him. Undressing himself, Roman took off his undergarments from the game and then his brace, throwing it aside to leave his forearm now bear as a number glared back at him; #03A.

He frowned at it before looking away and trying to ignore it as if it weren’t apart of him. He averted his thoughts as he waited for the water to heat up, looking around the bathroom for a few moments before stepping into the stream of water. Showering at night was always one of Romans favorite miscellaneous tasks because it made his mind flow as if recharging his thoughts and energy; not to mention the acoustics were fantastic and perfect for private concerts or imaginary music videos.    
Roman stood in the water for a few minutes, just letting the water run over his tired body as he thought to himself about the offer he had been given.

 _“See, the University of Florida is always looking for players with potential, but they favor some high schools over others. In your situation, if you were to continue here, you wouldn’t be offered a fully paid scholarship, but if you were to be attending Buchholz, the University would most likely pick you as a candidate, based on school statistics and all.”_ Rick had explained to him. Roman had listened, intently, always interested in any offers that had to do with his future, but he was only a sophomore, so he was confused as to why he was being approached as opposed to an older and better player.

_“That’s the thing though, you’re only a sophomore which makes it easier for you to switch high schools than a junior. If you attend Buchholz you’ll have a chance to grow as both an athlete and student and have a better chance at receiving a fully paid scholarship to the University of Florida.”_

Roman had to admit, the guy had a point. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of ditching his team for a better and more known high school and he certainly didn’t like the idea of risking everything just to get a scholarship that wasn’t totally guaranteed; it made him feel greedy.

He shook his thoughts away and focused on cleaning himself up, rubbing spots of dirt, sweat, and grass stains off his body. Games always had Roman coming home practically covered in filth, and as much as he hated it, he loved feeling refreshed and clean in the aftermath.

_“Should I really switch high schools just for this one chance..? What if the university doesn’t choose me.. Would I have left for nothing..?”_

Roman frowned and he turned the water off, standing in the shower and letting the water drip off of him.

“I’ll talk to mom about it when she gets home.” He decided with a nod before pushing the shower curtain aside and stepping out onto the place mat beside the tub. He grabbed the towel hanging up on a hook on the wall and wrapped it around his waist. He stumbled to his room, feeling a bit drowsy from the warm shower, and changed into some pajamas before traveling downstairs, intending to stay up and wait for his mom. Although, as soon as Roman hit the couch, his eyes seemed to close and he was lulled to sleep by the pull of exhaustion.

\----------------------------------

Roman felt himself wake up as the sound of the door alerted his senses, causing him to sit up. Blinking sleepily and yawning a bit, he sat up to see his mom walk in.

“Hey mom,” He greeted and she seemed to jump a little.

“Roman! Jesus, you scared me! What’re you doing up so late? Haven’t I told you not to wait up for me??” She exclaimed as she walked into the living room.

“Sorry,” He apologized, looking away. As a kid, Roman had stayed up endless hours for his mom and she had reemed him out each night about losing sleep, but he didn’t care, he was just happy she was home.

“How was work?” He tried to change the subject.

His mom sat down on the other end of the couch, her flip phone, pager, and keys close to falling from her hand.

“Busy, as always.” She admitted, looking over.

Roman held back a huff as his mom said this, she was always busy, and that always seemed to be her response when ever he asked about her job. Roman was proud of his mom, especially because her work took a lot of time in school and college for her to even get where she was today, but he wished she’d actually tell him about her day rather than sum it up in one word. But Roman understood, to an extent. Being a Pharmacist wasn’t the easiest thing to learn or become, his mom was probably too tired to ever elaborate.

“That sucks.” Roman replied finally. “Er- We won our game tonight.”

“You had a game today?”

“Yeah..” Roman glanced over to his mom. Hadn’t he given her schedule with all the dates for his games..?

“I got approached by this recruiter, Rick Griffing. He gave me a proposal and told me that if I switched high schools and went to Buchholz instead, I could be a candidate for a fully paid scholarship at the University of Florida.”  
The room was silent, but Roman didn’t dare look up in fear his mom would reject. Though Roman was confident in his mom agreeing with this offer and proposal, as long as it didn’t affect her job she’d most likely be fine with it. Buchholz wasn’t too far away either, Roman could drive himself each morning to school and then drive home, the only problem would be more frequent gas money.

“That’s great honey, I’m really happy to hear you have this opportunity.” Roman looked up hopefully, a bit surprised his mom seemed to be on his side.

“So- are you saying..?”

“Hold on, I have to talk to this Rick guy before we do anything drastic.” She wagged her finger. Roman deflated a little but he thought this was better than her saying no.

“I’ll go get his business card!” He jumped up from the couch and bolted to the kitchen his mom shouting a protest after him.

“Roman! Hold on..! It’s 2 am, I can’t call him now..!” Roman stopped at the counter and glanced back over his shoulder a bit embarrassed.

“Oh- right.. Yeah-” He smiled awkwardly before grabbing the business card and walking back to his mom.

“Here, can you please call him tomorrow..?” He offered it and his mom took it carefully, reading it for a few seconds.

“Of course, now go to bed and get some sleep.” She finally replied, looking back up at him.

“I will- Thanks, mom.” Roman smiled and turned away, walking up the stairs and going to his room; a grin spread across his face at the thought of his possible future.

He climbed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling restlessly as he his mind was full of endless things. He stretched his arms as he laid, his eyes squinting before their attention turned to his bare forearm; Roman frowned as he looked at the mark.

 _“Number, zero, three A...”_ He thought.

_“Number, zero, three A..”_

\----------------------------------

_“He’s doing fine, practically the best out of the eight.”_

_“Well he was the one the others are all based off of, so of course his vitals are satisfactory.”_

_A young boy was reading quietly as the two adults spoke over him, talking about adult things the boy wasn’t interested in. He was more focused on the pictures in the book he had on his lap, and the words that he could make out and read._

_“Cat,” He read aloud and the adults stopped talking momentarily._

_“Dog,” He read again, flipping the pages as more animals appeared for each letter of the alphabet._

_“#01, please, in your head.” One of the adults instructed and the boy paused, looking up poutily before carrying on without reading out loud._

_“Perhaps it’s time we show our success rates, the world needs to know we did the impossible.”_

_“Possible or impossible- they can’t know how many embryos we sacrificed to get this to work.. We’d get shut down.”_

_“I think that’s a risk we’ll have to take.”_

_“I suppose, but what about #04X, #06BX, and #07X? Out of the eight we only have five successes.”_

_“Then.. we will not reveal our failures, only our successes.”_

\----------------------------------

Thomas rounded the corner of the hallway as the first bell rang. He groaned a little, a bit annoyed how it was only the first day of senior year as opposed to the last. Thomas hadn’t even gotten into his first class yet and he was already sickened with senioritus. He couldn’t help but feel restless knowing that this was his last 180 days in purgatory and that soon, he’d be free. Though, despite wanting it to be the last day, Thomas looked forward to his first semester of easy classes and smooth sailing. He’d be able to have fun in chorus, land a lead role in the schools annual musical or play, and spend countless weekends sleeping in, of course, if he didn’t have the work too many hours.

Hefting his backpack of blank notebooks, Thomas walked along a hallway of lockers, looking at his schedule in his hand as he walked along the numbers. Each year they were given a different locker according to grade, freshmen got the lockers in the basement which were the most inconvenient since only a few classes were down there, the sophomores got the lockers on the second floor which were annoying to walk up to due to the stairs, and the juniors and seniors shared the ones on the first floor which were the easiest to walk to. Thomas finally stopped as he came upon locker 1035 and he played with the lock a little bit, putting in the code that his schedule had listed for him. As he played with the lock, he felt another individual stop beside him and start to open the lock next to him. Thomas didn’t feel like stealing a glance at the face, too busy trying to figure out how to remember to turn the dial. After a few tries he swore quietly to himself, aware that his neighbor had already opened their lock before him.

“Do you need some help?”

Thomas felt a pulse go through him as the student spoke, their voice sounding both different and familiar at the same time. He looked up and almost jumped as his own face stared back at him; the stranger seemed to have a similar expression and they both stared at one another in complete surprise.

Thomas blinked hard, trying to figure out if he was seeing things, but the student still stood there, staring back; was he looking at a mirror?!  
The boy in front of him was a bit taller, by maybe a couple inches, with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair that was slicked back, a pair of glasses was propped on his nose and he wore a button down shirt; despite a few minor differences, Thomas felt as though he were looking at a carbon copy of himself.

“Who..?” Thomas trailed away before clearing his throat. “This has to be a joke-”

The student seemed to be lost for words until he blinked and narrowed his eyes.

“So we’ve come to the same conclusion then?”

Thomas nodded.

“Well, this world works mysteriously, and it seems we’ve found our dopplegangers, my name is Logan, Logan Aster, I’m new here to Buchholz, moved to Gainesville over the summer. It’s nice to meet you.” The student extended his hand.

Thomas was still shocked over how similar the two looked, he felt as though this was a real life scenario of the movie, “The Parent Trap.”

“I’m- Thomas Sanders. Been in Gainesville all my life.” He introduced himself, shaking Logan’s hand.

“I believe we’re in the same grade, I hope to see you in some of my classes.” Logan nodded curtly before walking away, causing Thomas to stare after him; he tried to gather his composure.

 _“On account that I am adopted..”_ He suddenly started to think, glancing back over his shoulder. _“Maybe..?”_ Thomas shook his head.

“Get your head out of the clouds Thomas! You’re not part of some Disney Film Fantasy story.” He mumbled to himself before turning back to his locker, which in all of the shock, had not been opened. He sighed and continued to fiddle with the lock.


	2. Work in Progress

This work is still in progress idk how to fix it on here cause I'm a noob  
Go read it on Quotev, I actually know how to post there cause it's less confusing: https://www.quotev.com/story/11957607/Carbon-Copy

Edit: I fixed it. But I'm still going to leave this chapter here cause I might give up on updating this and just stay on Quotev-


	3. Updates and changes

Quick edits and updates: 

Changed Logan's friend's name to Reggy instead of Reagan 

Changed Romans number to: #03A due to story changes with the new addition of Remus Sanders into the Thomasphere


	4. Chapter 2: dopplegangers

Walking down the hallway after finally getting his locker unlocked, Thomas said hello to a few familiar faces, as he made his way to his first class. For it being only just the first day of school, he was already anticipating a rather steady work load for each week. Even though it was senior year, work wouldn’t be dying down until the end of the year, so he was steadily preparing himself for the start of another rough semester.

“Sanders!” Thomas turned his head as a classmate jogged up to him from further back in the hallway, a big smile mid his face. 

“Taylor! Hey man!” Thomas greeted his childhood friend with a warm side hug. The two had hung out over the summer as much as possible, but with both working part-time jobs, figuring out their college plans, and being altogether busy, they hadn’t seen each other as much as they had originally planned. 

“Happy first day back, am I right?” 

Thomas rolled his eyes but he smiled. 

“I suppose, but I can’t say too much, it is school after all.” He sighed truthfully. 

“You got that right.” Taylor agreed readily. “Hey, quick question-” 

“Quick answer?” Thomas interrupted slightly, smiling cheekily. 

“Did you happen to switch clothing? Or something? Because I was pretty damn sure I saw you walking in, but…?” 

Thomas felt his heart jolt in realization and he shook his head, hoping to pull his friend out from his confusion. 

“No no- There’s a new student that’s all, and he happens to look a lot like me! It’s weird! First doppelgänger I’ve ever come across for myself!” 

“A doppelgänger?? What!? No way! What are the chances?” 

“I know! I met him earlier this morning, his name is Logan, he moved from New York over the summer.” 

“Oh a Broadway boy huh?” 

“I guess.” 

The warning bell rang, interrupting the two’s conversation as they stood in the hallway. 

“I have to get going.” Thomas looked to Taylor apologetically. 

“Oh come on Sanders, you’re a senior now, why so worried about being late or on time?” His friend gave him a friendly elbow jab in the side. 

“Because I don’t like being late, and you should too.” Thomas sighed but sent a parting smile as he walked off from Taylor, making his way to AP Chemistry. 

“See you later Tommy!” 

Thomas smiled as they split paths, shaking his head as he made his way around the corner. He was a bit sad Taylor hadn’t decided to take AP Chem with him, but figured it was probably the best for Taylors grades. The two were smart, and they often stayed in at least the B range, but Chemistry was hard, and definitely not for everyone. Thomas had to admit that he didn’t quite like it himself, it was a bit difficult and a lot of work, but he was interested in chemical engineering so it was obviously a class he had to take. 

Thomas entered his classroom to see it full of people he knew, kids he’d been going to school with since he got into high school. Hefting his bag back over his left shoulder, Thomas scanned the room for a desk, finding an empty one next to a new familiar face. He trekked over, and sat down, dumping his bag on the floor and glancing to the boy beside him. 

“Well- er, you were right. We have a class together.” 

Logan looked up from the book he had open in front of him, glancing over to Thomas with a gaze that didn’t look very amused; Thomas guessed he didn’t like being interrupted whilst reading. 

“Yes, I normally am right.” He stated, his eyes softening a bit but his face strict and tight. Thomas felt a bit nervous, and looked away, feeling as though he was being slightly judged. 

“Yoooo Sanders! You didn’t tell me you had a twin!” 

Thomas looked up as attention was directed at him, and he felt his heart jolt in a sudden wave of anxiety as a familiar student appeared in front of his desk. This student Thomas had known throughout elementary and middle school, the two had never been close but they had been fellow players on a soccer team, until Thomas quit. 

A few students seemed to turn their heads at the strange call out, and a few walked over to get a good look at the similar looking boys. 

“I- uh- Sorry about that Jason-” He stammered, giving an uncomfortable smile. Thomas wasn’t used to the attention being turned on him, despite his love of theater and being the center of attention, he somehow had a harder time functioning in social settings. 

“He didn’t tell you because we’re not twins.” Logan spoke up, putting his book down and looking over his glasses at the students; he didn’t look very pleased to be interrupted once again but Thomas was glad he had spoken up. 

“Whatttt? You guys aren’t twins? That’s impossible, come on, you two are screwing with me. You look so alike!” 

Thomas and Logan shared a glance, and they quickly realized they couldn’t argue themselves out of this. 

“Ha ha ha,” Logan’s laugh seemed mechanical. “You figured us out, we’re twins.” He lied, seeming none too amused. 

“I knew it!” Jason exclaimed with a determined grin but before he could ask any more questions, the late bell rang and the teacher came into the class. The students quickly filed themselves away at their desks, getting ready to hear the yearly ‘first day of class rant’ where the teacher addressed what was to happen, what materials they would need, and what was on the rubric. 

Thomas sighed to himself, wondering how long it would take for questions like, ‘you have a twin?’ ‘I didn’t know you had a brother the same age!’ ‘Are you two twins?’ ‘Are you two related?’  to end. 

He huffed and rested his head on his folded arms, letting the teacher drone on in the background. After a few minutes though, Thomas stole a few glances at Logan, who seemed to be studying the rubric with a solid and interested gaze.

“Hey,” He muttered and Logan glanced at him questioningly. 

“Thanks- for, er, saying something,” He mumbled gratefully. “and for going along with Jason.” Logan seemed to let out a snort of amusement. 

“Well it was obvious he wasn’t going to believe us either way, and it’s clear he doesn’t know the statistics for doppelgängers.” 

“Statistics…?” 

“You don’t know either? Of course.” He scoffed. “I mean, the statistics show how rare it is, but it’s not impossible. There is a 1 in 135 chance for there to be doppelgängers, and since we live in the same country I’m not surprised we eventually met. Though there is a 1 in one trillion chance for them to look exactly alike, so I suppose we’re that one.” 

Thomas stared at Logan in shock. How’d he know all of this specific information about doppelgängers?! 

“Wow-” He shook his head to clear away his surprise. 

“You didn’t know that?” 

“Er- no, I didn’t.” 

“Mmm, I guess you’re not familiar with François Brunelle’s “I’m Not a Look Alike” project.” 

“Uh- yeah you’re right, I’m not.”

“Makes sense.”

Thomas turned his attention back to the teacher as their conversation slowly came to an end, but the gears in his head were still turning. The chances of him and Logan meeting were low, and the chances of them looking as similarly as they did were even lower. He questioned if they were truly doppelgängers or rather somehow related..

“You said you were from New York, right?” Logan looked back to him, this time seeming a bit annoyed. 

“Yes.”

“Why’d you mov-” 

“I’d rather not talk about it.” He curtly interrupted and Thomas flinched, realizing he had hit a nerve. The student seemed to notice his reaction to his statement and loosened his shoulders. 

“Sorry.” He apologized. 

“It’s- fine, I get it.” 

“I don’t think you do.” 

The air seemed to grow tense and Thomas shuddered. 

“Er- right.” He looked at his hands. “Anyway- I think you’re statistics are- well, accurate and could explain why we’re doppelgängers, but I think there might be a more probable explanation.” Thomas stole a gaze at Logan who looked interested in what he had to say. 

 

Thomas swallowed his nervousness and fiddled with his fingers. He didn’t normally tell people this but thought it might be necessary to figuring out why Logan and him looked like one another. 

“I’m adopted.” 

  
  



	5. Chapter 3: Seeing Things

Thomas looked away from his hands to catch a glimpse of Logan’s reaction. In full honesty, he was expecting a blank expression, a shrug, or maybe even a twinge of disgust but what he wasn’t expecting, was a face of complete surprise and shock. It was almost as if Logan had seen a ghost and Thomas became mildly concerned, his mind racing to figure out if he should’ve shared the info or not. 

Logan quickly stood up.

“Miss, I need to see the nurse.” He interrupted the teacher, who had been rambling on about the rubric. The class was eerily silent as gazed flicked towards Logan, curiously piercing the section of the room that had just become much more interesting. Thomas looked at his hands unsure that he liked the attention directed in his general direction. 

The teacher paused, looking a bit frightened by the sudden outburst and seemingly urgent need for a nurse, before eventually nodding.

“Then please- excuse yourself.”

“I’d like an escort- I don’t feel well.” 

“Alright alright do what you have to- and quickly, you’re interrupting me.” 

Logan nodded before grabbing Thomas’s arm and dragging him from his seat. Thomas scrambled to his feet as he was forced to follow and he sent an apologetic look to their teacher before he left the classroom. Logan’s hand was still gripping his jacket as the two made their way a little bit down the hall causing Thomas to be a bit frightened. 

Was he in trouble..? Did Logan really need the nurse..? What was going on?!

“Hey- Logan what exactly-“ He was cut off as Logan stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face him, his gaze hard and his eyebrows set, showing an expression that seemed to state that Logan was on a mission to find something out. 

Thomas watched as Logan started to push back Thomas’ jacket’s left arm sleeve. He watched with progressing horror as the air around him seemed to slow down. A couple seconds turned into what felt like hours as Thomas realized what Logan would see if he moved his sleeve up just a couple more inches. As he made the conscious connection, his reflexes switched on and he quickly wrenched his arm away before Logan could reveal any skin. 

“Logan! What the heck?!” Thomas took a step back in alarm, his panic rising every second. What was going on?? And why did Logan want to look at his arm?? Surely he didn’t know about.. about- 

“I need to see your arm.”

“What? No, why??”

“Because. Surely it’s just an arm, there should be no issues.” 

Thomas shook his head, incredulous. Out of all the things to happen on the first day of school he never would’ve guessed this was what he was going to be dealing with. After a few seconds of silence, Thomas made a quick decision and feigned obliviousness, hoping Logan was just being weird. 

“Logan can you please tell what the heck is going on?!” He felt his heart beat increase as he looked to his mirror image. He could see his slight reflection on Logan’s glasses, along with his expression of fear and confusion that was bounced back to him. 

Logan’s face dropped and he finally sighed, stepping away and putting his hands up defensively.

“I apologize.. I am not normally this impulsive. A few... clues came together for me and I had to prove my hypothesis.” 

“What..? Clues? Hypothesis..?” Thomas shook his head, what was Logan talking about?! 

“Yes, clues. I should’ve known it was suspicious that you looked exactly like me. Not to mention you’re one of the only ones around here who is wearing a jacket right now, in Florida.” 

Thomas’ brow furrowed and he looked away.

“So?”

“So, when you told me you were adopted, three things correlated. One, you look like me, two you’re adopted as am I-“ 

“You are?!” 

“Yes- now hush I’m explaining.” 

Thomas felt his mind start to shut down. He just couldn’t keep up at this point. 

“And you seem to like to hide your skin, specifically your arms despite it being so hot out.” 

Thomas blinked. 

“Look... I’m really stupid right now- can you just.. can you just tell me what it is that you found out so I can go back to class and daydream about sleeping in..?” 

Logan sighed and pushed in his glasses. 

“Yes sorry, I suppose it is about time that I told you what I was thinking. Here, I’ll show you mine first then you can show me yours. If my hypothesis is correct, this will all have been worth the confusion I can assure you.” 

Logan lifted his left arm and Thomas looked to it, unimpressed but the student moved his right thumb over a portion of the skin, wiping away a layer of makeup. 

Thomas gasped as the black symbols revealed #02. 

He took a step away as he stared at it, his back bumping into the lockers behind him. 

“You... you have one too???!” Thomas quickly moved to take off his jacket, revealing his own forearm tattoo that he had had since he could remember. He had always questioned its existence and asked his parents about it, but they couldn’t offer any answers. During elementary school Thomas quickly learned it was weird and unnatural for a child to have a tattoo, so he always tried to hide it. 

Thomas lifted his arm for Logan to see the tattoo that read, “#01.” 

Logan smiled a smirk of success as his gaze swept over the tattoo. 

“I was right then. It seems as though we are not strangers after all.” 

\-----

 

_ “It’s the same school you toured over the summer- not a big deal.”  _ Patton was finding it hard to calm himself as he entered the building, stepping inside the air conditioned interior and escaping the heat from outside. He was definitely excited to start his junior year, but he was more than nervous to be in a new place, with new people. Patton wanted to discover others who had the same interests as him, which made him more than thrilled to think about, but he didn’t know the struggles of being the new kid in town, and it disconcerted him. This was a new experience, one met with positivity, but also with a little bit of worry. His father had reassured him on his way out the door that he would have a good first day and that Patton was a good kid, he’d make friends fast; he hoped his dad was right. 

Pulling out his schedule as he walked into the front doors of the school, Patton pulled over to the wall so he could read where his locker was, but upon checking the time, he figured he should probably find his first class instead. Checking the room number written on his schedule, he quickly navigated the crowds, making his way down the south wing of the school where he took a sharp left into his first period; environmental science. As a junior, Patton had been given a lot of different science class options like, chemistry I, physics I, and forensic science, but he figured that chemistry and physics were a bit too hard for his pace and that solving murders wasn’t a class that lined up with his interests, so he chose environmental science to learn about the world around him. 

Patton walked in a bit nervously as he looked around the classroom. It was fairly large, with a lab set up in the back and rows of desks in the front that all faced a white board. There was already a lot of students in class talking to one another or sitting around looking both tired and bored. Pressured by his sudden anxiety, Patton took a seat at a desk near the front and sat down, placing his schedule on the desk, his bag on the floor beside his chair, and his flute case right beneath his feet. He had to admit that he was mostly excited for band which had been placed at the end of his day on his schedule. Everything else was just necessary classes, but band was definitely a class he had hand picked for an elective. He was excited and hopeful to meet others who enjoyed music like he did, obsessed over cartoons, and enjoyed spending extra time with animals or pets. 

Amongst his daydreaming Patton failed to notice that the first bell had rung and soon he was jolted from his thoughts as the teacher placed a rubric in front of him as he walked around the class, saying words of welcome and phrases of hospitality. Glancing around, Patton realized a few of the students were already familiar with this teacher, and he envied their obvious closeness. It reminded him how new he was to this school, only making him feel even more like an outsider. 

Swallowing his doubts, Patton clenched his fists in persistence, telling himself that he was determined to make at least one friend today. With a new found sense of tenacity, Patton listened in on the teachers greetings, trying hard to focus on the older mans drawling. After a few minutes of the teacher talking, Patton realized a kid had raised their hand and he glanced to the boy curiously as the teacher finally noticed him waiting patiently.

“Sam?” The teacher addressed. Patton noted that the two knew each other. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” 

Half the class erupted into a bout of laughter and Patton sat confused with a few other students who eyed their fellow classmates with blatant concern. 

The teacher only looked slightly amused by the supposed joke. 

“For those that don’t know, I had Sam in my class last year and he would take repeated trips to the bathroom each class. It’s become an inside joke, but it also outlines my knew strict rules of leaving the classroom. You all can thank Sam for that one. You only get to leave the classroom once per period for the bathroom, unless of course you have an emergency. Instances like getting pulled out by another teacher, going to the office, or nurse don’t count. Class time is valuable, people, and I won’t let you waste it!” 

Patton smiled at the lightheartedness of the student and teacher relationship, but he also made sure to mentally remind himself that Mr. Peters, the environmental science teacher, didn’t like students going to the bathroom all that much. Patton was sure he could make it through his first period without using the bathroom so the rule didn’t bother him much, but he did stop to think about how it may affect some of the girls in the classroom. Surely the rule would make it a little hard on them? 

Averting his mind elsewhere, Patton tries to focus back onto Mr. Peters ramblings, though after ten minutes of listening to the teacher just read the rubric aloud, Patton grew bored, and his attention soon wandered elsewhere. 

Placing his chin on his hand in boredom, Patton’s eyes slipped to the open door that was ajar enough for him to see the empty hallway. Staring out at the lockers for a few minutes, he was about to find something else to look at when movement caught his eye. Two figures passed by the door as they walked down the hall. He looked on in complete boredom for only a split second before catching a glimpse of both boys’ faces. Patton felt a pulse go through his heart as two carbon copies of his face waltzed by, one with a determined and set gaze that glared behind a pair of glasses, and the other who wore a much more stressed expression. 

Patton blinked rapidly, trying to process what he had just seen before looking back out the door. The hallway was empty now and Patton tried to figure out if he had just imagined it all. How did two boys, from a whole other state, in a school he had never gone to in his whole life, have the same exact face as him?! Patton was tempted to get up and take a look, but with Mr. Peters recent speech about his resent towards students using the bathroom made him hesitate. Perhaps he had just imagined it… 

Patton sighed to himself and decided he’d just have to figure it out later and look for the same two boys in the hallways. Though as he sat pondering, he couldn’t help but realize how rare- no, how impossible it had to be.. Seeing two doppelgangers of yourself in the same place, it seemed so unreal Patton wasn’t sure if he had really seen anything in the first place!

_ “Well… I am adopted.. Maybe- maybe they’re my long lost brothers?”  _ It was hard not to laugh at himself. What was he thinking? 

_ “You’re probably just tired and seeing things.”  _ He finally deduced.  

 


	6. Chapter 4: Hello #03A

“Well, welcome to Buchholz High School Mr. Sanchez. We’re glad to have you.” Roman shook the man's hand as he entered the small office that had forked away from the main office and secretary's desk. The two sat down in chairs opposite to one another, the counselor behind the desk and Roman in front of it. 

“Glad to be here sir.” He answered as the two got situated.

Any other normal student might’ve just nodded or shrugged, unwilling to talk very much, but Roman wanted to make a good first impression, and well, he was also hyped up on caffeine. Roman had stopped at a cafe near his house before driving to school. The ride was a bit long since he lived in the next city over so the pit-stop had been more than necessary to get himself to wake up. Though despite the benefits in being awake for his first day at a new high school, Roman found that his nerves were creeping in, turning the caffeine into adrenaline. He was excited for this new start, this new possible future, but it had been rough saying goodbye to his old friends and teammates. Upon the last day of sophomore year, Roman had been victim to one of Sully’s infamous bear hugs which had been a little shorter than what Roman had wanted it to be. 

_ “Hey I’m still in town, why are you acting as if I’m moving halfway across the country?”  _

_ “Well, I’m going to miss my other wide receiver! You know who’s gonna take your spot?! F*cking Matt bro- you  _ **_know_ ** _ how much a rookie he is.”  _

_ “Oh come on, don’t give him such a hard time.” _

_ “I’m just saying, I’m going to be making all those runs down the field and he’s going to be four steps behind.” _

_ “He’ll get better.”  _

_ “Will he?” _

_ “Well, he’s got the best teacher to show him how to play correctly.”  _

_ “Touche Sanchez, touche.”  _

“That’s good to hear, I hope this isn’t too much of a change? I know moving high schools in junior year can often be stressful because you don’t know anyone, it’s a new place, new teachers.. I just wanted to check in, especially because we didn’t have the chance to over the summer.” Mr. Wendell’s words brought Roman out of his recollection of his friends. 

He smiled. 

“It’s fine, I’m used to.. Being flexible so to speak.” 

The counselor nodded in approval.

“That’s a good skill to have, in life, and in sports. I hear you made the football team?” 

“Yes sir, varsity as I had hoped.” 

“Very good.” 

Roman became silent as the conversation dried up and Mr. Wendell start looking at a paper in front of him, peering over his glasses to see the writing in front of him. As Roman waited to answer any more questions, he looked around the office, letting his eyes scan over objects on the desk in front of him. The desk was like any other teachers desk, it had a small name plate embroidered straightly as expected, but the desk also withheld small toys such as a sand hourglass, a bowl of stress balls, and a 3D shape puzzle which was covered in dust as if the builder had taken too much effort to build it the first time that they did not want to risk attempting it a second time. 

With his leg bouncing impatiently, Roman found he could not keep still in the silence and quickly reached for one of the stress balls, grabbing one in his hand and squeezing it both consciously and subconsciously as his attention averted to the pictures on the wall. Two of the frames pictures nearest to Roman looked to be Mr. Wendell and another man, and Roman narrowed his eyes in small question as to who it was in the pictures, but he didn’t have long to think before his counselor began to speak again. 

“I see you signed up for chorus, a bit of a contradiction with your athletic interests, are you sure you wouldn’t rather take physical education instead?” 

Roman looked up at the question, feeling a bit embarrassed as he refused to directly meet Mr. Wendell's eyes. He focused in on the stress ball he had chosen from the bowl, letting it shrivel in his grip before letting go to witness it slowly return to its regular shape. He was a bit embarrassed to admit he wanted to try chorus out, because he obviously could’ve replaced the class with anything else, but his mother had encouraged him and he wasn’t ashamed of his obvious vocal skills. 

_ “Oh come on, foods? Seriously? You already know how to cook, plus you need some arts in your school career to even be able to graduate- you’re behind on 10 points and you’re already a junior! How about chorus?! You did so well in middle school! And how about taking up theater again?”  _

_ “I don’t know mom..”  _

_ “Just sign up for them, you’ll have fun.”  _

Finally looking up now, Roman replied with a determined grin. 

“No thank you, I rather enjoy singing.” 

“A musical man mmm?” Wendell smiled before handing over a paper withholding Romans schedule. 

“It was very nice to meet you Roman. Do you need an escort to your first class?” He stood up, and Roman followed his movement, placing the stress ball back into the bowl. 

“No sir, I toured the campus during break, I know where to go.” 

“Great, makes my job easier. Here’s your pass so your teacher doesn’t mark you as late to class.” 

The two shook hands once more after exchanging the slip of paper, but before Roman could turn away, the counselor spoke up. 

“Say.. Do you happen to have- any siblings that go to this school?”    
Roman gave the man an estranged look. 

“No, I don’t have any siblings, at all.” 

“Any cousins..?” 

“No cousins. My mother’s brother died at 23, and I haven’t seen my past fathers family since his funeral.”    
The counselors brow furrowed in both question and shock as he lightly frowned and shook his head.  

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Roman shrugged.

“It’s whatever. Have a good day Mr. Wendell.”  

“You too, thank you.” 

Turning away out of the office, Roman walked past the secretaries of the office before opening the main door and entering the lobby. He sucked in a long breath before exhaling in a loud sigh, his first period was Forensics, so he wouldn’t have to walk too far but he still felt rather labored to even go to the class in the first place. Roman had a hard time sitting still and often found it hard to focus while sitting for several minutes straight. 

Upon his thoughts, Roman heard and outburst of voices in the hallway ahead and he lifted his head from staring at his walking feet to see two students up ahead, seemingly confronting each other. Roman narrowed his eyes and frowned as the conversation had a bit of tension to it. He quietly approached the two students, ready to stop a fight if need be, but as he got closer, he froze in shock. The two looked oddly similar and VERY familiar. 

“What the f…” Roman trailed off as he stared. He watched as the one with the jacket unrolled his sleeve and showed off a very familiar looking number. 

Romans heart skipped a beat and it was as if he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t register what he was seeing. He blinked, several times, trying to convince himself that it was just an illusion- that he was tired, that this wasn’t happening. It had to have been the expresso- it was messing with his mind- right..? 

Roman pulled himself from his thoughts as the two students began to walk away, further down the hall; he grew panicked. 

“H-hey! You two..!” Roman called waving his free hand and starting to walk after them. 

The two students turned almost simultaneously before a look of surprise appeared on their faces. 

Roman stopped in front of them and paused, stricken speechless by how similar they looked to him; it was almost as if he was looking in a mirror with a few differences, of course. The one with the jacket looked older, almost as if he was a senior, but he wore a face of fear and confusion; he was a bit taller as well. The second seemed a bit younger, but more refined and proper with his glasses neatly propped on his nose, and his calculating expression studying Roman up and down. 

“There’s… three of us…?” The scared one said with a waver to his voice, glancing to his fellow student for reassurance. 

“It would appear so…” The one with glasses replied as the two looked to Roman; he felt a bit awkward under their stare, not exactly knowing what to say or what to do. 

“Your arm.” The one with glasses suddenly stated and Roman flinched. 

“Um-” He began to hum before the student grabbed his left wrist and began to undo the wrist brace. The velcro latch ripped from it’s binding sides, revealing the black markings on Romans forearm. 

“Well hello there, #03A.” 


	7. Chapter 5: There's three of us?

“There’s… three of us…?” 

Just when Thomas thought things couldn’t get any weirder, they did, and now his mind was back to grasping at the edges of his reality. He had just gotten over his situation with Logan, and he wasn’t sure if he could comprehend another one..

_ “I was right then. It seems as though we are not strangers after all.” _

_ “What does this mean though..? Are we related??? Are we siblings? Brothers??? Twins???”  _

_ “It’s unlikely that we are twins, I am supposed to be a junior; I skipped a grade, unless you skipped as well?”  _

_ “Um- no I didn’t..”  _

_ “Thought so.”  _

Thomas had given Logan a glance at that remark with his brow furrowing in slight offense, but he eventually decided not to reply or defend himself. 

_ “Though it’s likely we  _ **_are_ ** _ siblings.. And our pasts relate. Nevermind though, I’ve satisfied my curiosity for now, we’re missing class; do you have first lunch?”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ “Good. We’ll talk more then.”  _

 

_ “H-hey! You two..!”  _

He stared at the new copy and watched as Logan revealed the black tattoo on his arm. 

“Well, hello there, #03A.”

Number three looked up at Logan with wide eyes that shone with both fear and wonder. He pulled his arm away, hugging it to his chest as he slowly began to unconsciously redo the brace’s straps. 

“You- You guys have numbers too..?” He questioned looking back and forth between the two. Thomas glanced to Logan, who met his gaze with a silent nod of approval to show Number three his tattoo. 

“Yes, we both have them as well.” Logan replied, turning his arm over for the student to see. Thomas rolled up his jacket sleeve and joined in, presenting his arm next to Logan’s; they received a gasp from their third carbon copy, who stared in aghast silence. 

Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the student’s stare, Thomas withdrew his arm and smoothed down his jacket sleeve to conceal the tattoo again, Logan gave him a side glance before also extracting his arm away from the prying gaze. 

“I must be dreaming..” The student said with an exasperated laugh. “This  _ can’t  _ be real.” 

“I can assure you, it is.” Logan said dryly and Thomas looked to him with a furrowed brow. He seemed impatient, perhaps the strangeness of the situation was getting to him too? Or maybe Logan just wanted to get back to class? 

“This is like some- movie..! I can’t believe this, are you sure I’m awake? I had a feeling the drive over felt incredibly fake, like- what is this?? Are we three Slytherin students, showing off our dark marks?? I-” 

“That’s enough.”  Logan cut the student off and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

“We will talk more about this later, we are  _ missing  _ class at the moment. What was your name again?” 

“I never said my-” 

“Just tell me.” Logan snapped his fingers.

“Roman Sanchez.” The student said quickly. 

“Alright- What lunch do you have, Roman?” 

Thomas watched with tired confusion as Roman looked down at the schedule in his right hand. 

“Er- first.” He glanced up to the two. 

“Perfect. We’ll talk more then.” Logan turned on his heel and began walking away, leaving Thomas a bit stranded before Roman spoke up. 

“W-wait! Who are you guys-” 

Logan stopped and looked over his shoulder with a flash of embarrassment that only lasted for a few seconds before he regained his composure. He turned to face Roman and returned to standing in front of him. 

“Logan Aster.” He stuck his left hand out for a shake and Roman stook it sturdily before looking to Thomas expectantly. 

“Thomas, Sanders.” He greeted signaling a small salute-like wave with two of his fingers rather than reaching out for a formal handshake. 

“Alright, formalities are over and we are wasting class time. We’ll talk  _ later _ .” 

Roman nodded and Thomas followed their agreeance, audibly adding on with a small, “Right.” 

\-----------------------

Pattons hand had slid under his chin as he patiently listened to Mr. Peters speak, though despite his attempt at listening, he wasn’t receiving any of the words his teacher was saying; his stare was fixated on the door. Ever since the first two students walked by, he had kept a steady glare aimed at the doorway, as if willing the world to have them walk by once more just so he could know for sure if they were figments of his imagination, or not. 

It had been awhile, and Patton was starting to think he had somehow missed them. Perhaps he had been so lost in thought over the strange circumstance, he had not seen them return? 

Patton’s brow furrowed at his ongrowing confusion as to where the two might be. Did he truly imagine it all? About to turn away and focus back on whatever it was that Mr. Peters was teaching, a figure appeared as they walked by the doorway. 

Patton sat up as the figure entered into his view and he immediately recognized their face was mirroring his own, but a small jolt of panic soon followed as he realized that, even though this student was as equally the same as him, it wasn’t one of the original students that had walked by before. This male seemed a bit shorter than the original two, and he was carrying both a backpack and a heavy looking back of sports gear. The student was showing off a varsity jacket as well, but Patton didn’t recognize the school colors to match Gainesville; was this student new like him..? Was he even real..? 

_ “What is.. What is wrong with me..?”  _ Patton sat back in his chair with a loud, exhausted sigh as his hands rubbed his face in attempts to wake himself up. 

_ “I must be dreaming-”  _

“Is something the matter- er-” Patton looked up as Mr. Peters spoke, breaking from his endless lecture of whatever it was he had been talking about; the class seemed to turn towards Patton and he sank in his chair, realizing that the teacher must’ve thought that his sigh was about the class and not his inner turmoil. 

“Is something the matter, Mr. Hart?” Mr. Peters had checked the attendance sheet and now looked to Patton expectantly.

He met Mr. Peters gaze for a few seconds before finally shaking his head. 

“Er- no sir, I think- I think I’m having trouble staying focused, something is wrong with my head. Would you mind if I went to the nurse?” 

Mr. Peters narrowed his eyes but he looked away and waved his hand. 

“If you must.” 

“Thank you.” 

Patton got up and hastily walked out of the class, closing the door behind him and looking down both sides of the hallway; it was empty.    
He groaned to himself, putting his hand to his head in mental tire. 

_ “I must be going crazy.”  _ He thought before taking a right turn down the hallway of lockers. Pattons footsteps echoed down the hallway as he made his way to the nurse. Originally, he hadn’t wanted to get up, knowing that Mr. Peters was a bit sensitive about students leaving, but he really thought something was wrong with him. He had managed to see three students who looked just about exactly like him- which is obvious lunacy or great tire; he was hoping it was the ladder. Keeping a hand to his head, as if to cradle it and protect it from any more damage, Patton traveled down the hall, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. Who knew he’d be this confused and worried on his first day of junior year? 

Sighing quietly to himself Patton made his way to the end of the hallway, which opened up to the main lobby of the school. To his left, laid the bathroom, and beyond that, was the english language arts wing; he recognized that he wouldn’t have any classes down there in his first semester. Ahead of Patton, was the office and counselors department, and in front of that and just to the right a little bit, were the main stairs to the second floor. 

Taking another right and passing the elevator, he worked his way to the opposite end of the building where the nurse’s office sat between the theater and the gymnasium; on his way, he glanced to the front doors of the school, then the cafeteria which stretched to the right of the main entrance if one were to be facing the exit as if to leave. He hadn’t noticed how big the school actually was until he was contemplating his location within its walls. 

Patton stopped at the open door to the nurses office, feeling as if a foreboding cloud had suddenly fell over him. His stomach flipped and he felt nervous, but upon knocking lightly and entering, his strange nervousness subsided and he greeted the women sitting at her desk, who looked up with welcoming smile. 

\----------------------

“Wait- Logan, where are you going..?” Logan stopped amidst his walk down the hallway to turn his head to Thomas. The third student had proceeded down the hall after their conversation had ended, and Logan had observed that he had entered the classroom next to theirs. 

_ “Forensics is offered to juniors, he must be the same age as me.”  _ Logan narrowed his eyes as he began to develop more questions; he made sure to make a mental note of them all so he could interview the student later. 

“Logan? Where-” 

“Back to class.” He finally answered Thomas’s question whilst also cutting him off before he could repeat himself. 

“Where else would I be going?” 

Thomas gave him a hesitant look, and Logan returned it with a furrowed brow. 

“Well, you told Mrs. Lethin that you were going to the nurse- shouldn’t we follow through with that request..?” 

Logan looked to him, finding it interesting how Thomas sought to have a guiltless conscience. 

“We’ve wasted enough time Thomas- It’d be best if we just went back to class.” 

The student frowned, looking uncertain. 

Logan sighed. 

“If we made a trip to the restroom, would that settle your qualms?” 

“I- I guess.. But we’re still not going to the nurse-” 

“Mrs. Lethin won’t know anything different. Let's go, and be quick about it, I’ve missed enough time in class as it is.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off the YouTube series, "Sanders Sides," made by Thomas Sanders and Co. The characters belong to Thomas Sanders, but the story originates from myself, Rixitup.   
> Updates will be terribly slow on this story so I apologize in advance.  
> I hope you've enjoyed what you've read so far  
> Pictures can be found in the Quotev version of this book  
> or on my Instagram: @Rixitup


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